


Glory in Our Defiance

by dattumblrgal



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Enemies to Lovers, Family Drama, Historical References, Implied Mpreg, Inspired, Intrigue, Kings & Queens, Love Letters, M/M, Marriage, Secret Relationship, The Wars of the Roses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 96,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dattumblrgal/pseuds/dattumblrgal
Summary: "These violent delights have violent endsAnd in their triumph die, like fire and powder,Which as they kiss consume."In the mids of a berserk war, two princes discover an unlikely resolution for its end.Both born of the war, each of their families have raised them to be sat on the English throne one day. Decades of bloodshed and mindless killing have gone by and with the throne still in the hands of a regent, both factions are desperate to see their prince ruling over the realm.The young princes' beliefs and secrets don't complement their families' wishes.What will happen when the princes meet? Will they continue the tradition of hatred between their families or get to know each other without any prejudice?





	1. Faith in Their Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I've been asked by some of my Tumblr followers to post this story here as well as Wattpad, where I originally started this. This fic is a little different from my other works here because it has quite a few chapters and is perhaps briefer than my other stories. Nevertheless, I enjoy writing this and I hope you all have as much fun reading this as I have writing it :) 
> 
> Also, to prevent any confusion - this is inspired by the real historical Wars of The Roses, a civil war that took part in 15th century England between the two Plantagenet families - House of York and House of Lancaster. You DO NOT need to know anything about it, just putting this out there for some other history nerds like myself :D

_1478 - Windsor Castle, England_

"Your Highness! Your Highness, please get back to the castle!"

Of course Zayn doesn't stop his horse and keeps galloping away, the squire helplessly running after him. He laughs to himself, ready to hide himself away from the court for the rest of the day. Whatever his mother has to say, it can wait. The words " _Your Highness, your Mother wants to see you._ " have been too frequent lately and what comes after them is never pleasant.

With a self-satisfied smile, Zayn looks back over his shoulder, seeing the squire miserably standing far behind him.

Suddenly, Zayn nearly gets thrown off of his horse, after the animal stops abruptly and neighs. After gaining his composure, Zayn is faced with the unpleasant sight of his uncle, sitting on his horse right in front of him, wearing an armor that once upon a time used to be shiny but now was splattered with mud and blood.

"Uncle," Zayn gasps, clutching the reins of hus horse so tight his knuckles turn white. "What are you doing here?"

"Why are you disobeying your mother? Are you trying to cause her any more hardship?" Zayn's uncle says, his voice a hostile disruption of the field's peace.

"No, no! Of course not!" Zayn stutters.

"You need to go talk to your mother, boy."

Zayn takes a deep breath. "Why are you here so soon? What happened?"

Zayn's uncle, ever the resilient and brave man, drops his gaze to the ground. "The battle did not go according to plan. We had to leave prematurely in order to prevent our surrender or loss."

"What happened?"

"Go to your mother, boy. She will tell you."

"Why won't you, Uncle?" Zayn shakes his head softly.

"I am not the one who should be delivering the news. Now go. Quickly before she sends the guards to search for you."

Without any more words, Zayn's uncle turns his horse around and gallops away, heading towards the city. Zayn, confused and mildly distressed, takes his own horse towards the castle.

His mind is muddled, swarmed with thoughts and queries about the battle. It's been just five days since his father and uncles left the castle, the sprawling army marching behind them. They've left Windsor like that many times before, always returning after weeks either victorious or defeated. Zayn's teachers have been telling him that they're winning the war but Zayn isn't so sure anymore. The grim look on his father's face has been appearing more often than it should on the face of a winner.

Zayn is lead to his Mother's chambers by a servant. He walks in, the door shutting loudly behind him. He doesn't notice her at first but then he sees her, standing by the window, looking out into the gardens, a handkerchief crumpled in her hand.

"Mother? You wanted to see me?" Zayn asks, still standing by the door.

She turns her head, sighing in relief when she sees her son. Walking to a sofa, she motions for him to join her. "Come sit with me, son."

Zayn complies, sitting down next to his mother. "Why did you want to see me?"

She takes a deep breath, taking Zayn's hands into hers. "The war... it is not going as we expected. Your father...," she gulps, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Your father is dead."

Zayn's heart starts beating loudly in his chest. This cannot be happening. His father was the best warrior in England, how come he got killed in a battle? He was untouchable, unbeatable. And now... he can't be gone, not right now. Not when there are vultures circling around the throne.

"It will be alright, my child," she says, a determined look on her face. "We need to get away from here."

"Where?" Zayn whispers. "What is going to happen to the kingdom? I am supposed to-"

"You're not supposed to do anything," she interrupts him. "You are still a child, I will not let you sit on that damned throne in the middle of a war. I need to take you away until you are of age and fit to rule."

"Where will we go?"

"I wanted to take you to France," Zayn's mother sighs. "To my home, to your grandmother's castle but John did not let me. Your uncle is one stubborn man but he is right about _some_ things. You need to stay in England and not only learn how to be a ruler, but also keep reminder _them_ who is the true King here.

"You were always meant to be the King. It is in your blood, my child. It is your Godgiven right to sit on that throne and rule. No one will take that away from you. I will have everyone who tries to harm you or take your right away from you slain and their heads displayed on spikes lining the city gates. No one can change your fate, son."

"Who is going to rule if I am going away?" Zayn asks. His mother smiles wistfully, caressing his cheek.

"You already have the mind of a great ruler, my child. You are not ready yet but you _will be_. Your uncle with be your regent until you are prepared to rule on your own. In the meantime, we will go to Skipton where you will study and train, far away from the heathens trying to rob you off your crown."

"Are you certain about this, Mother?"

"More than anything, my son," she says, pulling Zayn into an embrace.

She kisses the top of his head. "Les étoiles m'ont dit que tu seras roi. Vous serez dans légendes un jour, mon enfant."

" _The stars told me you will be king. You will be in legends one day, my child."_

xxx

_1478 - Warwick Castle, England_

_"_ I can see you hiding there, son."

Harry reluctantly walks out from behind the bush, facing his mother. "I really do not want another lecture about my improper behavior, Mother."

To Harry's surprise, his mother smiles and cheerfuly removed a stray leaf from his hair. "Well, my child, you will be getting lectures but not from me."

"What do you mean?" Harry asks, shaking out his hair.

"I have good news. We won the battle. The King is dead."

Harry's eyes widen. "So quickly?"

His mother nods. "Lord Wawrick had a flawless plan. And it worked out flawlessly. Now, there is nothing standing in your way to becoming the King."

"I am too young, Mother. I am not even twelve," Harry says quietly. He should be feeling joyous or victorious, but all he can think about is King James dying. A tragic thing like death should not be celebrated. Everyone cried when Harry's father died, why are they celebrating this?

"Of course not now, but when you are ready. You will learn everything you need to be the ruler England needs. Then you will be the most famous King our history has even seen."

"What about King James' son? Isn't he the next in line?"

Harry's mother looks at him sternly. "He is a false prince. His grandfather stole the throne. It does not belong to his family. The crown is your right, not his."

"Yes, Mother," Harry whispers.

She smiles again, smoothing down Harry's curls. "I cannot wait to see the crown adorning your beautiful hair and you sitting on that throne. It will be glorious, my little prince."

Harry can't say anything else but numbly agree with his mother again.


	2. Seized Youth

_1485 - York, England_

Zayn has always loved a busy city. The hustle and bustle, the hundreds of people in the streets shouting and talking. His mother hates it with her whole heart but Zayn has always begged to be allowed to visit the city. As the crown prince of England, he couldn't just walk around the centre of London like that but his father had believed that keeping up the appearences with the common folk was good and vital for a successful reign.

He misses London and the Windsor Castle but York isn't terrible. It's still better than the confined walls of the Skipton Castle. While it's beautiful, the life around it is boring and as far from the culture of a big city as it can get.

His mother sends him to York for his studies for two weeks a month. Zayn visits a priest, a monk and a wealthy nobleman that has travelled most of the world. As if his teachers in Skipton weren't enough. Most often than not, she takes Zayn's education too seriously. Sometimes he feels like he's training to become a priest and not preparing to be a King.

Despite the nuisance of studying and learning about completely useless things, Zayn doesn't mind leaving the humdrum Skipton and spending his days in a city where the most exciting thing isn't a brood of newborn kittens found in a shed.

He isn't flaunting his status here, usually posing as a simple young nobleman and not a prince. This allows him to enjoy the indulgences of youth, the little he actually can do in the middle of a war.

The fighting doesn't stop, it hasn't for years. It had started years before Zayn was even born and the battles continue to go on now that he's already old enough to reclaim his throne and rule England as its rightful King. But there is still the Styles family, the powerhungry people who killed Zayn's father and now they want his throne.

The war is pointless. Thousands of lives have perished and for what? John is looking over the throne for Zayn and if Zayn chose to rule himself tomorrow, the worst case of resistance would come from his mother, who would say he's still too young to rule. Yet, the Styles family are too stubborn to let this generations old squabble go and want their youngest on the throne. Their claim has weaked over the generations and in order for them to be the directly next in line, around ten people would have to die.

According to Zayn's mother, they only want two people dead - Zayn and his uncle John. That's why they don't let Zayn to participate in the battles. His mother despises when people ask her about it, considering the Styles boy has fought in a few battles already. Few being two but his family love to present him as a fearless and mighty warrior, who has won thousands of wars and killed countless men all by himself. Zayn would love to see him in real life. He would bet he's an inbred imbecile who probably can't even lift a sword off the ground.

But it's a bit ironic, as if the Styles' couldn't poison him or send an assassin. It'd be terribly easy, considering how careless Zayn often is when he's wandering the streets of York at night, but he's not going to give up the little sliver of youth he has for irrational fear. His youth has been seized by the war and he's reaching so far for at least a tiny bit of normalcy.

As he's walking into the house of the eccentric nombleman Raphael, Zayn feels like any other young student and not a prince, whose head is desired to be seen on a stake.

The door to Raphael's manor house is open, as usual. It's as if he had no clue about things such as robbers and murderers.

"Raphael!" Zayn calls out into the sprawling house. "I'm here! And I don't have much time tonight, I want to go drinking!"

"You've arrived today and you're going drinking already?" says a on Zayn's left. He nearly jumps, turning around and seeing Raphael with a wine goblet in his hand.

"You're drinking as we speak," Zayn remarks. "And what in God's name are you wearing?"

"I am allowed to, I'm about to spend an hour talking to you, I need the help. And don't say his name in my house unless you want me to kick you out. Made up things aren't welcome here," Raphael talks as he walks towards his study, Zayn training behind him. He ignored Zayn's comment about the atrocious red tunic he's wearing but Zayn's used to seeing clothes from all over the world on Raphael's frame.

"Today, we're talking about Plato," Raphael announces as he plops down on an exotic looking sofa in his study. Zayn vaguely remembers a story about some fight with Arabs and a night of drinking that goes along with it. "Which reminds me, on my last journey to Athens, I encountered a very very peculiar fellow."

The following hour goes on in a similar manner. Raphael talks about his travels, the people he fucked there, he drinks wine and somehow in the middle of all that, he manages to tell the whole Platonian philosophy. It's been almost two years since Zayn first sat with him like this and it's still a mystery how Raphael stays oriented and concentrated in his chaos. It's rather fascinating.

"Where are you going drinking?" Raphael asks as Zayn's putting on his coat.

"Gilly's Tavern, probably," Zayn shrughs.

Raphael nods slowly. "Starting off fancy, I see."

"I suppose," Zayn sighs. "Goodbye, Raphael. Thank you for the lesson."

"You are the most welcome," Raphael bows his head a bit. "Oh, and I almost forgot."

Zayn stops in the doorway, looking at Raphael curiosly.

"There are some interesting people staying at Gilly's. Attractive people," Raphael winks. "Have fun, my prince. Just not too much of it. We need you on the throne soon."

"I'll keep that in mind," Zayn laughs and finally leaves Raphael's study, closing the door behind him.

He walks to the tavern, enjoying the winter air that's keeping the city fresh despite the filth. It's like this only in winter and maybe that's why Zayn likes it so much. The walk isn't long, just about fifteen minutes till he's opening the door to the tavern, letting himself be enveloped by the warmth and the smell of food.

The place is lively, brimming with people with pink cheeks and jugs of beer in their hands, all of them shouting over each other. Zayn sees a table with a few locals he knows by name, these near strangers who are a good distraction and a decent company in this city. They don't talk about politics, they don't care about who Zayn really is, even though they saw through his lies and know about his true status. They're young enough to care only about drinking and fucking. It doesn't matter to them that they're getting drunk with their future king, as long as he pays for their drinks every other night.

Zayn drinks with them for a while, laughing and talking about complete gibberish before a party of six people walks down from the rooms upstairs. He sees immediately that they don't fir there. Their clothes are more for a battle than a night out drinking and there's an air of arrogance floating around them like flies around a carcass. Then Zayn notices the white rose symbol decorating some parts of their clothing and partial armor. He freezes, realizing who these people are.

One man in particular catches Zayn's attention. Not really a man, more of a boy with long curly hair and a face pretty enough for a girl. He laughs at something a companion of his says, flashing a smile so bright it captivates the room. A couple of seconds later, his eyes, his green, green eyes catch Zayn's for a moment, suddenly cold and relentless. He looks away, sitting down ag his table, leaving Zayn speechless.

The hair, the handsome face, the white rose. His piercing green eyes and blinding smile. Zayn knows the rumours and tales, oh he knows them well. And he knows he just had the pleasure of seeing Harry Styles in flesh for the first time. The traitor, his rival, the man who wants his throne. He certainly didn't look like an inbred imbecile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, let me know you thoughts bellow or on Tumblr @harryssecondguccishoot :)


	3. Serendipidous

_1485 - York, England_

The tavern isn't as busy as it usually is that night. Maybe it's good, maybe it's the worst fucking thing that could've happened. Even the usual whores haven't come to slither around patrons this evening. There are only four tables with guests seated behind them, leaving the rest vacant. But the noise is certainly enough to wake a village up. All thanks to the Styles party sitting at a table right across from Zayn's.

It's been about an hour since they've arrived, all dressed up with their chins held up, as if they were walking into battle and not a fucking tavern in York. Zayn has been cautiously watching them as they got drunker and drunker, ate like pigs and laughed like madmans. He's been ignoring his companions a bit, rejecting their offers to toast with them multiple times in order to keep his mind as sober as he can, considering he's had a considerable amount of drinks before the Styles clan came.

Harry Styles keeps looking at him. With this glimmer in his eyes, an almost invisible smirk dancing on his lips, Zayn wonders if Harry knows who Zayn is. They've never met before and Zayn isn't flaunting his nobility but would it be so hard to tell? A careful eye who's seen Zayn's portraits would have caught the similarities. If one paid enough attention, the would see the red rose depicted on one of his rings. Maybe one observant enough would see the difference in the behavior of Zayn and his companions. A prince raised to be a King ever since he was born behaves differently than some city nobility. Palace etiquette differs quite heavily.

The half-empty tavern keeps getting emptier as the night goes on, Zayn's companions leaving too, one by one until there was just Zayn and Frederick at the table. The men who arrived with Harry Styles are retreating to their rooms upstairs too until the false prince stays there on his own. He doesn't seem bothered by it, not in the slightest. It's like he's been waiting for it. He keeps sipping on his wine, his lips stained red and plump. And as it has been tonight's staple, his eyes _happen_ to meet Zayn's over and over and over again until they're left staring at each other like angry cats about to break into a fight.

"Zayn, are you even listening to me?"

Frederick's voice makes Zayn peel his eyes off of Harry's, shaking his head softly and looking at his friend.

"I asked you if you wanted to attend a gathering at my house this weekend?" Frederick asks.

"Yes, of course," Zayn says, still not fully grasping the words because his mind is infested with the imagine of vibrant green eyes and slick red lips.

"Very well then," Frederick nods as he stands up, putting on his coat. "You will get the bill?"

"Surely."

"Thank you, my King. I would bet my hand that no other King has ever been such a good company as you."

Zayn chuckles, looking around to see if anyone's heard Frederick. He isn't in the mood to deal with all that right now. "I'm not King yet, my friend."

"Not yet," Frederick replies, his gaze travelling to Harry's solitary figure at the table across. "But soon. Very soon."

Frederick's words are dripping with venom. It seems like Zayn wasn't the only one who noticed the false prince sitting across from them all night.

"Farewell, my friend," Frederick says. "I will see you tomorrow, perhaps."

"Goodbye," Zayn says after him, watching as Frederick's back gets out of view after he closes the tavern's door.

And Zayn heard him before he ever sits down and starts speaking. He heard the chair scraping the floor, the heavy footsteps coming towards him, the sound of a different chair being dragged on the floor. But he didn't look that way. Not until he spoke.

"We meet at last, Zayn Malik."

This makes Zayn turn his head, regarding Harry with a bored look in his eyes.

"This is not the place where I imagined meeting you for the first time," Harry continues. "But it surely is exciting."

"Exciting?" Zayn lifts his brows curiously. "Where did you imagine we would meet?"

"A battlefield, perhaps," Harry shurgs with a smirk. "Or just seeing your head on a spike."

Zayn lets out a half-hearted laugh. "You certainly are quite confident. Talking like this but also coming to me like we were old friends and not enemies."

Harry looks at him with something pensive in his eyes. "You are not _my_ enemy, Zayn Malik. You are my _family's_ enemy. There is a difference."

Zayn's taken aback by the words. "So you want us to be friends?"

Harry shrugs. "Not exactly. I just wanted to talk to you. I am drunk, I will be honest, and I just wondered why am I warring against a man I have never even met? So I decided to meet you properly. At last, talk to the man I am supposed to hate with every bone in my body, even the marrow inside of it."

Zayn's riddled with confusion but at the same time, he finds some of his own queries in Harry's words. They're born of war, they never knew anything else. It was default to hate each other, even if they weren't even in this world when this conflict began. They didn't start it but they must end it. Even if it isn't their biggest ambition and desire.

"So what? You are talking to me now to determine whether to murder me tonight in private or wait to make it into a spectacle on a battlefield?" Zayn challenges. He cannot trust him. Even if Zayn tries to see the better side of people, he can't afford to give Harry Styles the benefit of the doubt. Not yet, at least. But he still hasn't been poinsoned or stabbed in this establishment, has he?

Harry smiles slowly. "I do not want to murder you, Zayn."

"Why are you here then?" Zayn asks.

Harry sighs before flashing Zayn a smile. "Care for a drink?"


	4. Chasing Your Warmth

_1485 - York, England_

For the future King of England, Zayn has certainly spent too much time in taverns and inns, drinking and getting lost in strangers' bodies for just one night. He didn't keep his virtue protected, he surely wasn't saving himself for the inevitable arranged marriage. In a way, it was a protest against the clutches of war that have been holding him hostage even before he was born. It was a rebellion, against his princely manners that have been drilled into his head, against the expectations that are haunting him.

Drinking with his biggest enemy was the biggest surge of resistance without a doubt. They're just political enemesies after all. Two young men, born of war and meant to take the throne and rule England. They might have even been friends in a different world. If it wasn't for the decades old feud between their ancestors, Harry might've even lived amongst the many nobles at Windsor Castle. But that isn't the reality.

Zayn easily said yes to Harry's offer of a drink. Was it reckless? Absolutely. Could Harry possibly be planning to poison his or get him drunk and murder him? Without a doubt. Is Zayn willing to risk it? Certainly.

It feels like freedom, somehow. Sitting at a table with Harry Styles, the man who wants his throne, the two of them talking as if they were friends and not men designer to meet head to head on a battlefield one day. It is a contempt to all the lives lost in the war. They might as well be laughing into their father's faces, the King and a Lord who died on the battlefield just months apart. Yet, neither of them feels guilty.

They drink a pitcher of wine together like there wasn't a white rose on the sleeve of Harry's shirt, like there wasn't a red one on Zayn's ring. Because does it even matter? Fucking roses and bloodlines. It means nothing if there isn't peace and their people are suffering.

"You know," Harry slurs, setting his cup down on the stucky table. "My mother always sends me off with the words 'Kill him.' As in you."

Zayn nods his head once, downing the rest of his wine. "Figures."

"But I don't want that?" Harry says, propping his cheek on his hand. "Like... why can't we just... settle this? It's clear the throne should be mine, right?"

Zayn laughs and then hiccups. Fuck, he's drunk.

"Styles, did you even get your basic education? Can you not read?"

Harry frowns at him, an offended look on his face. "Did _you_ learn how to read?"

"I did!" Zayn slurs. "Because the records say that _I'm_ the rightful heir to the throne. Your grandfather and father were usurpers. Traitors, really."

Harry groans, trying to pour some more wine only to find the pitcher empty. "This is bullshit. It's been like... thirty years, why haven't we won the war yet? You haven't even fought in a single battle."

"Divine intervention," Zayn remarks. "The God knows the truth and he cannot let you win."

Harry squints suspiciously. "Do you believe that?"

Zayn shrugs. "Why not?"

"I hate you," Harry says suddenly. "You are sitting on _my_ throne."

"You wish, love," Zayn snicker. He really fucking wants more wine but his inebriated brain can't really process the command to ask for more. "Besides, _my uncle_ is sitting on the throne right now."

"You're of age. Why aren't _you_?" Harry asks, his green eyes piercing Zayn with their gaze.

"Is this the Styles way of getting some intelligence about their enemies? Not spies but drinking together in dingy taverns?" Zayn wonders, his drunk eyes focusing on Harry. He hates to admit it, but the man is pretty fucking handsome. Even now, half lying on the table with glassy eyes.

"What?" Harry sits up straight. "No. Spying is for cowards. You haven't faced me in a battle yet, how can I know you aren't doing what you're accusing me of doing?"

"Just because I didn't fight you in a muddy field, doesn't mean I can't take you down."

"Is that a challenge?" Harry asks, his eyes suddenly flashing with something dark.

"Might be. But not tonight. I don't have a sword with me and we're drunk. We would just maim each other with no result."

Harry hums, looking somewhere to the side, looking like he's thinking off the next school of philosophy.

"Come with me," Harry says at last, already standing up loudly. Zayn notices then, after looking around to see if anyone has reacted to the noise, that they're the last people there.

"Where do you want me to go?" Zayn asks, not leaving his seat yet.

Harry points in the vague direction of the stairs leading up the the inn part of the establishment. "To my room."

"To do what? Fuck?"

Harry sighs, rolling his eyes. "To fight, you dimwit."

"I don't have a sword here," Zayn repeats his argument from before. He hates fighting with s weapon not made specially for him. It feels off, the weight and swing of it.

"Well, I don't know about you but I've got a sword alright," Harry smirks, leaning his hand against the table and popping his hip out.

Zayn sees the induendo behind it and he can't help but mirror Harry's smirk. "Are you sure about us fighting? This won't have anything to do with your cock?"

Harry scoffs with pretense offence. "What do you think of me? I've a virtue to uphold. Now come, I want to fight you before I get too sleepy from the wine."

Without having any real intention to fight Harry Styles in the middle of the night, Zayn still stands up and follows him up the squeaky staircase. As they're walking, Zayn can't help but notice Harry's arse, tightly hugged by his breeches, his top ending just above his arse. Harry's a dickhead, a traitor and an annoying spoiled "prince" but his arse is objectively pretty fucking good. Zayn's just human after all, enemies or not.

They walk to the highest floor of the inn and Harry unlocks one of the only two doors there. The room is washed with soft lighting coming from a few candles scattered around the room. There's on open trunk with clothes hanging out of it by the foot of the four-poster bed, which is pushed into one of the corners. The space doesn't really have much more furniture aside from the bed, just a chair and a small table with a sink and a chamber pot under it.

"Where are your famed swords?" Zayn asks while leisurely strolling around the room.

"Don't have any here," Harry smirks shamelessly.

Truth be told, they both knew this wasn't why they went upstairs.

"So you've dragged me out here to murder me?" Zayn wonders, dragging his fingers down a poster of the bed. "That is just bad manners. Causing all this hardship for the innkeeper, with having the heir to the English throne murdered in his establishment. He just tried to make a honest living."

"I've terribly wanted to bed someone tonight," Harry says, ignoring what Zayn has just talked about. His eyes are dark with desire and Zayn can see the way Harry's lenght has thickened up, even in the dim light.

"Are you sure you don't have a sword here? I'm rather bored, to be honest," Zayn voices, walking closer to Harry. He can see his eyes clearly now, the green of them and the blown out pupils. His red lips are parted and Zayn wouldn't mind tasting them.

"Bored?" Harry licks his lips. "I can fix that."

Zayn just hums, tilting his head a little. It's a challenge. What will Harry do now? Continue with talking in circles or do something? Murder him? Kiss him?

"Do you want me?" Harry asks, his voice husk. He blinks slowly, his eyes begging Zayn for an answer he wants to hear. The desperate need for a yes is palpable and Zayn almost gives in.

"Do I want you dead? Certainly."

"I could've killed you at about a hundred separate occasions tonight, I think we've moved past attempted killings, dear."

"Have we?" Zayn challenges, taking one more step closer to Harry. He can feel his body heat now. Their chests are a hair's breadth away. They could touch for the first time with barely any effort.

Contradictory to his words, Zayn touches Harry's hand with shaky fingers, their eyes still meeting one another. It lights up a fuse, sparking a fire between them.

The fire burns softly, smoldering with heat.

"We have," Harry mumbles, closing the distance between them with a boisterous, unapologetic kiss.

The fire shifts into an explosion.


	5. Burning Desire

_1485 - York, England_

Love for a royal is most often just a children's tale. They do not have time to fall in love and usually, the opportunities are simply not there. When someone from the royal or an otherwise influential family wants to marry for love and not lands, wealth or status, it rarely ends happily for them.

Marriages in their world are just a means to an end. A way to get a throne, to gain influence or money. It is not a declaration of love and affection. Princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses - they cannot just decide to settle down with anyone they find enchanting. And God forbid they choose to love someone bellow their rank and status. The worst of it is loving a peasant or any commoner. For that, some have been even disowned by their parents or sent into converts and monasteries.

Fucking on the other hand, that is an entirely different tale. When marriages are arranged, there are talks of 'virtue' and 'virginity' and 'purity' but all of that is just sheer bullshit. No one sticks to those traditions. Maybe some of the most religious ones, but there always comes a certain age at which the body just demands some excitement, to feel another warm body and quench that desire, that feeling bubbling in their bodies. Be it a sin or not, they barely give a fuck.

Zayn lost his virginity a few years ago. His mother has hopefully no idea because she would cut his balls off right after he provided an heir.

It was with an older princess visiting from France. Florie was beautiful but that was about it. They fucked a few times, she left and that was it. Ever since then, Zayn has tried many companions, whether male or female, highborn or lowborn. It does not matter to him, as long as they are aware of the fact that there will never be anything more between them.

There is an arranged marriage somewhere in Zayn's future, he knows it. As the future King of England, there is no chance that he will get to choose the person that will rule by his side and will help him provide the heir to his Kingdom. It is what it is and he has already left all those useless tales about true love and all that in his childhood.

That is precisely why he does not stop his greatest enemy from kissing him. Even if it is Harry Styles' tongue in Zayn's mouth, does it really matter? When the sun comes up and their sobriety returns, the war continues. One night of passion and sharing the same bed is nothing in the grand scheme of things. They are still warring. They are still waiting for each other's deaths.

After Harry had kissed him, the fire just erupted between them and nothing could stop them. The wine cruising throught their veins only helped add to that recklessness but fuck, it felt good.

"Do you still want me dead?" Harry asks after he pulls away, his lips red from kissing. His hands are clutching the sides of Zayn's face and Zayn's own hands have found a spot on Harry's hips.

"Maybe in the morning," Zayn says, his voice just above whiper. He moves his hands to Harry's arse, shamelessly grabbing it and pulling Harry closer, before kissing him again.

The kissing wakes something up inside of him. This wild desire that feels good, too fucking good. Perhaps it's the element of forbidden fruit, the knowledge that this is the last thing they should be doing together. The whole nation expects them to fight, to unsheath their swords and keep them in their hands until one of them is slain. What would their mothers say if they saw this? Their sons, both of them raised to be Kings, Kings fighting for one and the same throne, and now they are hidden in an inn, kissing and grabbing at each other like they were being paid for it.

It does not take long before they start removing their clothes, layer by layer until they're standing shirtless in front of each other, nothing but their underpants on.

Zayn then notices Harry's beauty in its full scope and appreciates it. Surely, he knew the tales and he was quite taken aback by just Harry's face down in the tavern but now he can why the stories even originated in the first place. They must have been created by his previous lovers, by people that got to see him like this in his full glory.

He is truly a sight to see, with his broad shoulders and thin hips, defined muscles. His hair falling down almost to his shoulders in curls. The candlelight makes it all even more enchanting, especially Harry's flushed cheeks and lips swollen from kissing.

After all, Zayn is just a human and he kisses Harry once again, but this time he starts pulling him towards the four-poster bed that's pushed into one corner. Harry goes willingly, even starts to be the one pushing them to the bed after a moment.

The clumsy conversation about who should fuck whom is omitted thanks to Harry eagerly laying down on the bed and pulling Zayn down between his legs. He doesn't wait before he wraps his legs around Zayn's waist, rutting up to get some friction.

An eternity seems short in comparison with the time it takes until Zayn finally gets his length inside of Harry and starts fucking him. But it sure as fucking hell is worth the wait.

Zayn doesn't know if it's bewitchment that's making this whole thing so good or the pitchers of wine they drunk but he cherishes every second of it. Tonight, just for tonight, he forgets the war.

Harry is a sight to behold, his hair splayed on the pillow, moaning like a tavern whore.

"A mighty warrior, isn't it what you're supposed to be?" Zayn says as he's fucking into Harry. "Look at you now, opening your legs for me like I was paying for it."

"I can kill you with my bare hands," Harry spits out and contradictory to his words, kisses Zayn's jawline.

"Should I take my cock out before you do that or not?" Zayn asks. He kisses Harry then, taking away his chance to reply.

"What would your mother say if she knew you were fucking me?" Harry asks after a few moments, chuckling coldly before gasping. "Her precious little King. Sticking his cock in his enemy."

Zayn grabs Harry's hips, fucking into him harder than before. It effectively shuts him up, no words coming out of his gasping mouth, just moans.

"Are you any better?" Zayn gasps out. "You opened your legs faster than a common whore. Are you always this easy or is this just your pathetic attempt at securing the throne in a different way since you and your mother both know you _cannot_ win this war?"

Harry laughs, bringing his hips up so he meets Zayn halfway. "I don't give a fuck about the throne."

"Sure, you don't," Zayn scoffs. "Why else would you be doing this?"

"Because I want to," Harry replies easily. "And I know you want this too. You don't care about the throne. This is too dangerous and if you cared you would've run for the hills and not gotten your cock out and fallen between my legs that apparently open for anyone, according to you."

Zayn ignores this drivel. He knows Harry is just trying to rile him up, trying to get a reaction out of him so Zayn will accidentally reveal something that Harry could use against him. Zayn might have falled between Harry's legs but he is not falling into this trap.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come soon," Zayn says a moment later.

"Don't come in me," Harry gasps out. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Oh," is all Zayn says.

"Yes."

The conversation is lost, the two little words saying enough.

Harry comes first, staining his belly. Zayn pulls out a few seconds later, coming on the same spot as Harry, mixing their come together.

After they clean up, they lay together in the bed side by side in silence, not touching and staring at the the wooden top of the poster bed.

Zayn feels a touch on his right hand, the one next to Harry some minutes after the finish. He looks down to see Harry warily touching his hand, just with his pinky. Harry's finger gets further and further ever so slowly until his hand is covering Zayn's and their fingers fall in place together. Harry wants to hold his hand. And Zayn lets him. Turning his hand palm up, Zayn lets his fingers be intertwined with Harry's. As if they were lovers, expressing affection with an act as innocent and simple as hand holding, and not enemies fighting for the English throne.

Zayn dares to turn his head to look at Harry. The curiosity was eating away at him, wondering if Harry is staring at him, begging with his eyes or if he is simply staring up, his thoughts miles and miles away from this dingy inn.

He is met with Harry's vibrant green eyes, watching him. Not begging, not staring, not longing for something. Just... looking. There is no question hidden within them. They are glassy from the wine and sex but not hateful.

Words seem like a disturbance right now. Any sound at all could break this fragile peace, the frail universe they have created where wars and bloodlines and fucking red and white roses don't matter.

They watch each other for a moment, just looking at each other as humans and not princes. It is a novelty for both of them. For the first time in their lives, the person they just shared the most vulnerable part of themselves does not see them as an achievement or a way to success. They are equals, even if the bloodlines say otherwise.

Harry is the first to move, turning to his side so he's facing Zayn, taking his hand away from Zayn's only to touch Zayn's cheek with it, caressing his cheekbone. He kisses Zayn ever so gently, like he was touching the most breakable thing in the world.

They don't speak. Not until the sun is already climbing up the sky. It's not necessary, their bodies do the talking.

 


	6. In The Night

_1485 - York, England_

There are two different types of lovers in the world: those who are sleeping together and those who are actually in love.

The first kind shouldn't really be labeled as lovers because there is no love in clandestine fucking hidden under the veil of night. It is almost an insult to real love that is scarce enough as it is.

One would perhaps try to label Zayn and Harry as lovers after that one unfortunate night at Gilly's but they would be terribly wrong. Zayn fully intends for that encounter to be the first and the last of the sort. He cannot be sharing a bed with Harry Styles when he should be fighting him on a battlefield in the bloodbath that is the war for the English throne.

That night, in the vulnerable hours of an early morning, they fell sleep with their limbs entertwined after an eternity of kissing. Their minds didn't alert them about what was going on, about the intimacy that materialized in that badly lit room, in a bed that has witnessed the future King and a traitor touching as if they truly were lovers. After so many hours, they couldn't even blame it on the wine.

Zayn woke up first when the sun was barely up on the horizon. He was disoriented at first, his head pounding with a hangover. When he opened his eyes and looked around, finding his greaterst enemy's head nestled on his naked chest, all the memories came back in a flood. Regret was the prominent emotion but he still slinked out of bed, managing to get Harry off of him without waking him up.

As he was putting on his clothes, he heard some commotion behind him, hoping it wasn't Harry waking up but of course it was just that.

"Leaving already?" Harry asked from the bed, his voice raspy.

"Of course. What else should I be doing here?" Zayn answered and despite his better judgement, turned around to look at Harry.

It only made leaving harder in the end because Harry sure did look inviting, splayed in the bed with the sheet barely even covering his body. He has a lazy smile on his face and his hair was messy, so far from the meticulously groomed "prince" from the night before. He actually looked seventeen then, just a boy having fun around a city before they marry him off. The reality was much harsher because Zayn knew the both of them cannot come out of this war alive.

"Come back to bed," Harry said simply, putting his hands behind his head. "Once you leave the room the war is back on."

"Good," Zayn said, putting on his coat. "I cannot wait to see your head on a spike along with your neat little group of other traitors."

Harry chuckled. "Can I see you again? Outside of this whole war business?"

Zayn looked at him, seeing a little flash of hope in Harry's eyes that may or may has been there. "The next time you will see me will be on the battlefield."

Without any more words from either of them, Zayn turned on his heel and left the room, not looking behind once. The coldness he felt seeping through his body did not come just from the January temperatures.

xxx

For the rest of the week, Zayn is haunted by the memories of _that_ night. He cannot focus when he is with his teachers, even his dreams are infested by his recollections of that damned night. But he knows it will pass. Harry Styles cannot haunt him for the rest of his life. Yes, they made a mistake. But it does not matter. It was one night that no one knows about and they will take that secret to their grave.

On Saturday, it is the day of Frederick's celebration. God knows what he is celebrating but he always seems to find a reason to invite people to his townhouse and get them spectacularly drunk.

Zayn is looking forward to the event because the celebrations always begin with a feast and the best gossip is discussed with just the right amount of politics. The guests are all young enlightened people preaching the philosophy os renaissance from the old continent so the conversation never stalls because of whatever the Pope says. It is always a pleasant gathering.

This time, an unpleasant surprise is waiting for him.

Zayn is the last one to arrive, Frederick rolling his eyes at him when he opens the door, scolding him for always being late. Zayn just remarks that Frederick has known him long not to expect him to come on time.

The dining room is dimly lit, most candles located on the long table that seats around fifteen people. All the chairs are occupied, expect for the two that are assigned to Zayn and Frederick. The table is heavy with foods of all kind and many pitchers of wine as it's the custom at Frederick's.

After taking a quick glance at the other guests, Zayn sees most of his friends that he has met in York. Only there is one disturbance in the company.

"Frederick? What is _he_ doing here?"

"Don't worry, my dear friend. Tonight there is a politics ban on the conversation. He is a friend of my dearest friend Matilda so he is welcome at my table. Just try not to murder each other, or at least do it outside, I have a new carpter."

Said person, whose presence is not welcome by Zayn at all, is no other than Harry Styles. As if the memories following him were not enough, he had to be there in flesh. Frederick is a traitor at this point, considering he has forgotten his hatred towards Harry that he seemed to have just a few days ago.

"Oh, Zayn and I have met before, Frederick," Harry says with a wave of his hand and a blinding smile. "We are nearly friends. And I bet a pitcher of wine could fix that."

Zayn feels Frederick's stare on him and when he does look at Frederick, he can see the daggers flashing in his eyes because he knows precisely what this could mean. After all, they know each other's antics.

Harry is grinng when Zayn takes a look at him, almost revelling in Zayn's obvious misery. The bastard must have planned it, there is no other explanation for this insane "coincidence".

With a sigh, Zayn sits down on his spot, thankfully not next to or right across Harry but he still has a relatively good view at him. And the dinner from Hell can begin.

The first course passes without murder. Harry is profoundly annoying, charming guests with stupid jokes and tales. Zayn just keeps drinking wine to keep his mouth occupied so he doesn't start a verbal fight.

As the night progresses, everyone gets drunker and drunker, and the mood is jovial. Frederick lifts the "no politics" rule before dessert which might not be the greatest judgement on his part but whatever, if the future King of England gets into a fight tonight, he brought it all upon himself.

Zayn is surprised to see that most of Harry's opinion on politics of Europe and today's philosophy are not actually terrible. He keeps to himself most of the night while Harry's mouth is barely closer other times than when he is chewing his food and he does not hold back. Kings, Queens, the Pope, Harry reveals his opinions with abandon, like he wasn't trying to sit on the English throne.

Along with the night they spent together, Zayn finds Harry's behaviour reckless. A thought slips into him mind - what if Harry wasn't lying? What if he truly doesn't want the throne? It is pure lunacy to truly believe it because for all he knows, this could be a tactic. Make everoyne, especially Zayn, think the Styles family doesn't has stopped their endeavors to get the throne and then they will strike harder than ever, finding everyone vulnerable and surprised. Zayn cannot let his guard down.

Upon closer inquiry, Zayn realized that if Harry were to rule, his reign wouldn't differentiate much from what Zayn wants to do when his uncle's regency comes to an end. He isn't sure if it's shocking or not since he had met Harry just this week and Harry's political agenda isn't a substantial part of the Styles' propaganda in the war.

"Zayn, what do you think about the Jagellonian rule in Bohemia?"

Zayn blinks, turning his head to the side to look at Celestina, who asked the question.

"I think I am going to have enough political talks with my advisors back in Skipton, so I will let you all discuss this without my input," Zayn says with a strained smile.

Celestina scoffs and playfully rolls her eyes before turning to Harry. "Weren't you supposed to be bethored to a Bohemian princess?"

Zayn's ears perk up at that. It is news to him. He has not heard anyone talk about it back at the castle and now now in York.

"Uh," Harry laughs nervously. "Not really, no. It is a rumor. But Lord Wawrick has been bothering me with trying to secure a good marriage for me. I guess he will find a... princess for me soon. I will need an heir eventually."

Celestine nods, turning her attention to Bartolomew and his fianceé.

"My King," Frederick says then. "You have not been very vocal tonight. I had been looking forward to hearing some of your wisdom tonight or perhaps a heated discussion with our dear new guest."

"So we were the entertainment tonight?" Zayn chuckles. He isn't upset, he knows that Frederick probably just wanted to show off what a dimwit unfit to rule Harry is but that didn't work out quite well because Zayn sticks his cock to places where he shouldn't.

Frederick shrughs. "Perhaps."

Harry clears his throat, bringing the attention to him. "I had been unaware of the end of the war it seems, since you've been calling Zayn 'your King' the whole evening, Frederick."

"Oh," Frederick rushes to take a sip of his wine. "It is an old habit. But why get rid of it when we will all be calling him that soon enough? Zayn, when is your uncle ending his regency?"

Zayn hesitates about answering but after a few seconds, he decides to light the fire. Harry started this whole thing either way.

"In the next few months, I suppose," Zayn answers, a grin on his face. "I turned eighteen earlier this month, I am of age. Just trying to end the war quickly."

"Oh," Harry takes the attention for himself. "And just how are you going to do that? Have your friend been feeding me poisoned food this whole evening?"

"No and I am not going to discuss my strategies with you. If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it earlier this week."

"Yes, I heard you well enough that night since you were repeating yourself constantly and yet you still-"

"Gentlemen!" Frederick calls out. "Please, do not discuss this at the dining table. Let's move into the sitting room where more wine and delicious food is waiting for us."

Zayn and Harry stare at each other like cats ready to fight until Matilda grabs Harry's arm and leads him outside of the room along with others. Frederick stays behind as a host and also to scold Zayn.

"Did you fuck him?" Frederick asks when Zayn tries to leave the room.

No words are needed after they share a look. This whole debacle of an evening and the miserable look on Zayn's face are telling enough.

"For what it's worth, I do not think he is trying to kill you," Frederick sighs. "But don't trust him. And before you protest, I know you are going to bed him again. Just be careful."

"You are a good friend, Frederick," Zayn says.

"I do not know why I put up with you, my King."

xxx

True to Frederick's words, Zayn and Harry end up at Zayn's house aftert the celebration at Frederick's. They fuck again, spewing hateful words between gentle kisses and thrusts. And just as last time, their bodies betray them and as the sun is coming up, they are wrapped up in each other, sharing kisses and then falling asleep in each other's arms.

This time Zayn wakes up alone with only a piece of paper on the other side of his bed saying:

' _I will feel you with every step I take today and the memories of your tender kisses will stay with me until our next encounter. You cannon fool me, my dear. Your heart is gentler than your words but I can read you through your eyes. I will see you tomorrow. Expect me at your door after midnight._

_Your most affectionate,_

_H. S.'_

Harry does indeed knock on the door of Zayn's house just a few minutes after midnight. Not many things change from their two previous nights.

"Did you like my note?" Harry asks when they have been laying in bed together for about an hour.

Despite everything in him screaming to lie, Zayn replies truthfully. "I did."

"Good," Harry smiles and kisses Zayn's naked shoulder. "I will make sure to leave you another one in the morning."

There is one novelty though - they talk. Not about politics or the war. These words aren't the hateful ones that leave their lips when they fuck. They talk about simple things, things that no one cares about enough to hear them out. A book they read and liked, a happy memory from their childhood before they even knew what war was, a funny tales from a night of drinking.

They laugh and genuinely enjoy talking to each other. The superficial opinions they had about each other in their heads are lost to present truth. Harry isn't a spoiled child who thinks war is a game and an opportunity to show off his shiny armor and skills with a sword. Zayn is far from the sheldered child who grew up with books.

The two enemies find out who they really are beneath the tales created by people. It is nearly breathtaking, finding out all about their personalities without the looming treath of war and murder.

It is dangerous because Zayn still isn't sure if this is just a plot from Harry's side but it is too good of a feeling to let go, to finally have the same footing as someone else. They both have equally as much to lose.

In spite of the danger and the risk, they meet every single night for the rest of January. Each time Harry comes to Zayn's house in the middle of the night and the rest is the same, only with minor differences. They are falling deeper and deeper into a trap they've created themselves.

xxx

On the first of February, Zayn visits Raphael again at last. He's back from Denmark, another one of his quick travels that are quicker than one's trip to the market and Zayn is glad to see him. Only he is distracted the whole time, thinking about the note Harry left him that morning.

Zayn woke up first but Harry still insisted on writing a note for him that he would read after Harry had left. He wrote it naked at Zayn's desk in the bedroom, laughing loudly as Zayn tried to peek over his shoulder but then settled on kissing the naked skin on Harry's shoulder. The note said:

' _There is not a thing more beautiful than waking with you on the morning of my 18th birthday. I only wish I had woken up first so I could watch you sleep. You seem so at peace then. I will miss you at my birthday celebration greatly. I wish this was not just for our eyes. I wish I could speak freely about you, not only as my enemy but my lover too._

_Your true loving,_

_H.S.'_

Zayn could not stop thinking about it all day, about what it meant for them and for the Kingdom. If someone were to find out, they would be both beheaded for treason by their respective families or rather the war would reach new tragic heights that Zayn doesn't even dare to imagine.

"Your mind has been floating around, my Prince," Raphael says, breaking Zayn out of his daydreaming.

"I apologize. My mind has been... off the course lately," Zayn rubs the bridge of the nose.

"I know," Raphael remarks with an ancient wisdom that he seems to possess. "Frederick stopped for a drink last night. He told me all about your new lover."

Zayn freezes, his heart beating in his chest like a church bell. "What?"

"Don't worry," Raphael waves his hands and stands up, walking to a credenza where he keeps his alcohol. He takes out two glasses, pouring some spirit into both of them. "The Styles boy is a fine young gentleman. I can see why you have been wrapped up in this love affair."

"It is... just an affair," Zayn breathes out. "There is no love."

"If you say so, my Prince," Raphael says as he sits down, putting the drinks on the small table in front of them. "Your heart seems heavy. Talk. Let it out."

Zayn doesn't take his drink and he watches as Raphael sips his own, his wise eyes watching Zayn.

"I don't hate him, Raphael," Zayn says after a few minutes of deliberating. Even just letting the words out feels like treason. "He is a traitor. He wants my throne. His family killed my father and yet, I cannot bring myself to truly hate him anymore. I know I did. Just a few weeks ago I know I hated him. But then... I met him. And it all changed and I don't know why I feel like this and then there is the war and-

"Stop," Raphael says resolutely. "Take a deep breath and answer a few of my questions. Does it feel wrong, being with him?"

"No," Zayn says reluctantly, his voice small.

"Alright," Raphael nods. "Do you feel like he is using you?"

"I do not think so," Zayn answers. "We never talk about the war and my correspondence is either burned immediately or hidden."

"Then stop worring," Raphael says simply. "Everything will resolve itself. As Aristotle said: _Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies._ You know, when I was in Italy recently, a new thing they have there sparked up my interest."

Zayn lets Raphael's words get out of focus. Usually he loves his stories but now he is not in the mood for it. The whole situation with Harry is causing him great stress.

But perhaps he should let it go. Fate probably already has everything mapped out and planned out. Maybe this has another meaning he has yet to find out.


	7. Surrender Your Heart

_1485 - York, England_

Being the heir to the English throne, Zayn's life is always in danger. It has been that way ever sine he was a child. His mother always took extra precautions to protect him from poison and assassins, considering there were quite a few people who would love to see him dead.

There is a certain youthful recklessness that brings Zayn to go out like he was a regular person but he never goes unarmed. If he doesn't have a sword with him, at least a dagger could always be found on his person.

When someone bangs on Zayn's door at two AM when he isn't expecting anyone, it's only natural he grabs a sword before walking to his front door.

It is a bit stupid that he has no guards here but with the heightened situation regrading the war, he doesn't like to attract much attention.

Cautiously, Zayn walks from the library where he was reading, the sword unsheated in his hand but hidden behind his back. He unlocks the door, not knowing what to expect there.

When he opens the door, he nearly gets knocked over by Harry's drunken figure.

"My lover," Harry slurs, his arms already wrapping themselves around Zayn's neck. Zayn is forced to drop the sword on the ground in order to get his hands on Harry's hips to keep them standing upright.

"What are you doing here?" Zayn asks as he maneuvers to get the door closed and locked while not letting Harry fall at the same time. "Why aren't you at your birthday celebration?"

"I was," Harry smiles after he pulls away a bit to look at Zayn. "But I missed you. So I decided to come here."

"Are you alone?" Zayn asks because there is no way in hell Harry could've gotten here on his own in this state.

Harry shakes his head, the drunken grin still on his lips. "Ollie's with me."

"Who is Ollie?" Zayn asks, concerned now. After all, he might end up finding his death tonight.

"M'horse," Harry giggles and burries his face in Zayn's neck, attempting to leave a sloppy kiss on the skin.

"You rode a horse this drunk? Do you have a death wish?" Zayn exclaims, pulling Harry away from himself.

"I could ride you too, my lover," Harry smiles a bit maniacally, this time trying to kiss Zayn on the lips.

"Alright, you are going to sleep, that is what you are going to do," Zayn says and starts guiding Harry towards the staircase.

"No," Harry whines but still manages to follow Zayn up the stairs. "You are so mean to me."

"You will thank me later, love," Zayn says just as they get on the upper level. He wrangles with Harry to get him to bed but he manages to do it just fine, mainly takes to Harry's lack of sobriety. The inebriety wins and Harry's eyes get droopy as soon as his head hits the pillow, all the protests and attempts at escape left behind.

He lays Harry down in his own bed and takes his boots off before getting up to bring Harry a glass of water from a pitcher that's on chest of drawers further in the room. When he gets back to the bed, Harry's watching him.

"Could you please sit with me a moment?" Harry mumbles, his hand limply grabbing Zayn's. Zayn complies, sitting down on the side of the bed, his hand still in Harry's.

"I want you," Harry breathes out, tightening his grasp on Zayn's hand.

Zayn scoffs, pulling his hand away. "I am not fucking you when you are in this state of mind. Wait till the morning when you sober up and then we can talk."

"No, no, no, no," Harry begs, refusing to let go of Zayn's hand as Zayn tries to stand up and leave. "I did not mean it in that way."

Zayn stops in his tracks, stilling completely as he looks at Harry doubtingly.

"When I left my celebration, I did because I wanted to tell you something," Harry starts. "Something very important."

"What is it?" Zayn asks carefully, his heart drumming in his chest. There is so many things that could go wrong right now it hurts his head to even imagine it all.

"You are my lover," Harry says. Zayn doesn't refute it. "And I surrender my heart for you."

"Harry-" Zayn starts but he doesn't know how to continue. We can't? It's wrong? We're enemies? They've both said all those things countless of times and yet here they are.

"You cannot refuse my affections, not when I know you feel the same way," Harry says confidently. "I do not care about our families and I do not care about fucking roses. Or the war. I cannot be with you because of it and it tears my heart into pieces."

Zayn sighs. "You are drunk, Harry. You will regret saying all this in the morning."

"I am drunk," Harry admits. "But I have never seen my emotions clearer than I do now. I can repeat this for you in the morning if you wish but nothing will change. You cannot run away from the truth, Zayn."

Zayn brings his hand to caress Harry's cheek. Harry closes his eyes, covering Zayn's hand with his own. It might be the last moment of true affection between them. This has truly gotten out of hand and it needs to be killed and buried along with the memories of everything they've done together.

"Go to sleep, Harry. We will talk in the morning," Zayn says, smiling wistfully before standing up.

Harry gives him a tired smile and for some reason, Zayn feels a pang in his heart.

He doesn't sleep well that night. His mind too busy with thinking about what this means for him and Harry, for the war and the future of England. They never should have fucked. It was a huge misstep on their parts. What started as an act of careless passion and hatred ended up as something loving and almost gentle. This is not the outcome they expected.

Zayn knows they need to stop this, even if his heart is trying to tell him something different. His heart agrees with Harry, dances with happiness due to the words being said out loud. But his brain protests, yelling and shouting to leave Harry alone before he kills him and steals his throne under the false impression of love.

They are both alone in this, unless Harry has concocted this as a plan with his advisors and that damned Lord Wawrick. Who is Zayn supposed to seek for counsel? Raphael is clearly a supporter of this affair while Frederick would put Harry's head on a spike if he could. His mother is out of question because she would get a stroke if she knew what son has gotten up to. He doesn't trust anyone else.

Zayn has to trust himself now. Trust his instinct, both his heart and head. This might be his first big kingly decision that will affect his Kingdom. He hopes he will make the right choice.

xxx

In the morning, Zayn finds himself in the training room quite early, even before the servants have started milling around the house. He spends some time throwing daggers before he moves to get his sparring dummy.

"Good morning."

Zayn turns around to find Harry standing in the door in just simple pants, boots and a white almost transparent shirt.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?" Zayn asks as he walks to get a sword from the wall display.

"I am alright. A night of drinking can't bring me down. Ask me questions like that when I'm old and fat. Can I join you?"

Zayn looks at him, raising his eyebrows playfully. "Aren't you still drunk from last night?"

Harry rolls his eyes, already walking to Zayn. "No. Now give me a sword. Show me what you got."

"Pick whichever you like," Zayn says instead picking one. Harry grabs one similar to the one Zayn has in his hand, turning it and trying the weight.

"Nice work," Harry mumbles. "Shall we begin?"

And they do. At first it's almost languid, simple. Zayn doesn't put his full strenght in the swings because he knows Harry has just woken up and didn't have any warm up.

But then Harry swings with a bigger strength, Zayn blocking the blow before he hits back more forcefully.

It goes on for some time, the swings and blows growing more and more aggressive, both of them sweating through their thin white shirts. Neither of them has a significant advantage. No one is the winning one the whole time.

When the end doesn't seem to be near, Zayn decides to stop the session before one or both of them gets hurt.

"Alright, stop," he as as he blocks a swing from Harry.

But Harry doesn't seem to hear him, or pretending not to hear him, as he surges forward, trying to take advantage of the situation and win the fight.

Zayn doesn't let him so easily. He fights back, not holding back anything at all. They are both with no armor so he is still cautious of that but at this point, he knows Harry isn't stopping until there is a definite winner.

After a few more minutes, Zayn decides to implement another tactic - distraction. Their strength is even so the result of this is basically who gets exhausted first. This way, the fight should stop before that happens.

"Didn't you want to talk about last night in the morning, Harry?" Zayn asks. Harry loses his footing for a moment, before regaining his balance.

"You are a coward," Harry retorts. "Not willing to fight with honor and not willing to talk about love."

"Love?" Zayn scoffs, his and Harry's swords meeting with a clank. "I thought we were just fucking. Which is rather brave, reckless and stupid on your part, mainly. Do you want my throne or my bastard?"

If Harry's eyes could kill, Zayn would be a dead man right now. He drops his arm, leaving it hanging alongside his body, sword still in hand.

"I wanted _you,"_ Harry says coldly. "I bared my heart and I was willing to give up _everything_ but I am just a hole to stick your cock in, aren't I?"

Zayn is left speechless. He didn't expect Harry to react like this. They were always riling each other up with hurtful words and Harry met his remarks with even more vicious and insulting ones. What has changed now?

"Harry, you were not just that," Zayn argues, dropping his sword on the ground and taking a step closer to Harry. He is stopped by the tip of Harry's sword in the middle of his chest.

"I do not want your throne," Harry says, his face unreadable. "I know you were just trying to anger me but no, I do not want your bastard either. But I do want the truth. And if you are a man enough, if you are a King enough, you will give it to me."

Harry pushes the sword deeper into Zayn's chest, tearing the material of his shirt and drawing blood.

"Are you willing to surrender?" Harry asks.

Zayn knows what he means by that since he doesn't have a sword, doesn't have any weapons. He wants to know if Zayn will surrender his heart, just like Harry said he did himself.

By surrendering his heart, Zayn could be surrendering his kingdom. He could be surrending his life for all he knows. Everything he holds dear could be gone with this surrender. His future probably sits on this single answer. Whether he chooses the right or wrong one, he won't know until it is too late to change it.

"Yes," Zayn gives in.

He gave in last night when Harry called him his lover and he didn't say anything. He gives in now because he knows if he said something else, it would have been a blatant lie that Harry could very well see through.

Harry breathes out loudly, the relief palpable, his whole body relaxing as he drops the sword and it hits the floor with a dull clang. He takes a long step towards Zayn, grabbing his face in his hands and kissing him immediately. Zayn brings his hands to Harry's waist, ignoring the crazed pace of his heartbeat and the anxiety attempting to ruin this moment.

Yes, he is worried that all of this is false and he hass just walked into a death trap. But deep down he knows there is no chance that Harry could have faked _everything_ in this past month. He took risks even greater than Zayn while being together.

"My love for you is greater than any words," Harry whispers after pulling away, his lips mere centimeters away from Zayn's. "This war will not take you from me. My heart is yours and your heart is mine. Roses be damned."

"I tried to deny these feelings, I am still wary about my love for you but it is stronger than me," Zayn says. "You have captured my heart and I am happy being your prisoner. Roses be damned. We are stronger than that cursed war."

Harry pulls away but he takes Zayn's hands into his. "I am leaving in the evening, my love. But I will send you letters. My most trusted squire, Peter, he will be delivering them. He will find a way, he will not be seen."

"Send them to Skipton. I will be leaving in a few days as well," Zayn says and he takes of his ring with the red rose of his family. "Here, take this. Send it along with the letter and I will too. So we know no one is trying to trick us."

Harry takes the ring, putting it boldy on his finger, as if he didn't care that someone could see him with it. "My heart will long for you."

"Mine too," Zayn says. "We need to find a solution. We cannot be hiding forever."

Harry nods. "We will. I promise."

And just like that, Zayn might have signed his own execution. Loving his greatest enemy, trusting him with his heart and life. Perhaps this love is just youthful foolishness. Maybe it was written in their stars. Maybe it is all just a lie. Their love could end the war or end their lives and thrust England into a war like never before. They are risking many more lives than just their own.


	8. Without You

_Warwrick Castle, February 1485_

Coming back to Wawrick after nearly a month in York doesn't feel like home for some reason. Harry grew up here, his mother is here but so is Lord Wawrick, so are other Lords and people who only see Harry as a political figure they could use for their own gain. In York he was mostly free, even if a few people that reside in court were with him.

Now it's back to plots and training and politics and talks of marriage and a million other things Harry has grown tired of in the past seven years. Ever since King James died, everyone around started to see Harry only as the ruler they want to see on the throne of the man that they had just killed in a battle. He was still only a child but he had to start thinking and behaving like an adult overnight.

Harry's home for just four days when Lord Wawrick starts scheming again. He saunters into Harry's chambers without even knocking.

"Have you not heard of knocking, Lord Wawrick?" Harry asks, closing the book he was just reading.

"My apologies, Your Highness, but we need to discuss your recent trip to York," Lord Wawrick answers and sits down on a chair opposite the sofa Harry's sitting on.

Harry sits up more straight, his fingers nervously playing together. "And what about it? Is something wrong?"

He would be damned if Lord Wawrick knew about everything Harry got up to in York.

"I believe not," Lord Wawrick answers. "But I am interested to hear what you learned in your own words."

Harry takes a deep breath. "I learned nothing. Not a word about what they are planning."

Lord Wawrick eyes his warily. His canny face with light blue eyes and a brown beard has been questioning Harry for years. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am positive," Harry replies with a blank face.

Lord Wawrick sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose."Have you at least seen the Malik Prince somewhere? Our spies could not have gotten so much information about his whereabouts wrong."

"I have not," Harry lies. "And due to his not being there, I spent most of my time drinking and whoring around," he finishes with a smile.

Harry said the last sentence just to anger Lord Wawrick. The man has kept Harry almost locked in this castle for years, unless he was leaving for battles or studies in abbeys. This is what he gets for acting like he has the claim on the throne and not Harry. His arrogant behavior and his manipulation of Harry's mother will come to an end soon.

But Harry still needs him. He needs the castle, he needs Wawrick's army. At least until he can figure out what the fuck to do next.

"Are you out of your mind?" Lord Wawrick hollers. "Do you want to tarnish your reputation? Why are you playing with fire? I am trying my hardest to secure the English throne for you and you go out of your way to risk everything? What would you do if you ended up with a bastard? What if you were spotted by our enemies and killed?"

"There is no need for this yelling," Harry says calmly and stands up, walking to a window closeby and looking out. "I was fucking tavern whores. Every young man my age drinks, believe it or not even the Malik Prince does and yet his family still wants him on the throne."

"You are more vulnerable than him," Lord Wawrick remarks. "His father was the crowned King for fifteen years. His uncle is sitting on the throne right now. Your father was hated by the entire nation. You cannot afford to be seen as an irresponsible buffoon who spends his time drinking and fucking cheap whores! Just imagine the rumours this could have sprouted!"

Harry closes his eyes, sighing. He's had enough of this but he chooses not to try his luck. Lord Wawrick could be insane enough to kill him and try to win the throne for himself, for all Harry knows. All of Harry's previous rebellions against this controlled and meticulously planned life were merely childish. This could stir up a reaction Harry hasn't seen before. His outings to fuck around in the town and drink a bit of wine were nothing compared to this.

So Harry decides to lie once again and cater to Lord Wawrick's dreams.

"I apologize for my behaviour, Lord Wawrick," Harry says after he turns around to face him. "It was but mere foolish acts of youthful wonder. Now, what are we going to do next?"

Lord Wawrick sighs as he takes a seat again. "Well, since you did nothing useful in York and we do not have much of an idea what the Maliks are planning, during your absence I focused on finding a bride for you."

"I beg your pardon?" Harry raises his brows. "I have stated many times that I do not want to marry before the war is over. And that I do not want an arranged marriage."

"Those are just childish dreams," Lord Wawrick scoffs. "You need an alliance. And you will need heirs. Ideally, I would prefer if you married a woman that has a certain claim on the throne herself. That was we will be going into the next battle stronger than before."

"Dear God," Harry shakes his head. "Are you listening to yourself? Do you think that when the Regent hears I married a girl that is 60th in line for the throne he is going to think to himself 'Oh, but my nephew is not married, better give the throne to our enemy'. It is an unnecessary endavour."

"Your Highness, I am more experienced than you," Lord Wawrick says, his chin held high. "I know what to do."

"Then why didn't you get my father on the throne?" Harry bites back. "He was married to a woman, he had a male heir. Where was the problem?"

"That was a different situation," Lord Wawrick retorted.

"We need to focus on ending the war," Harry says resolutely. "Lives are being wasted in battles, England is growing weaker and weaker every year because there is not enough stability. A Regent has been on the throne for almost seven years. Think about the good of the people and the country, not your own good. I do not want any more pointless battles. I want peace, no matter what it takes."

"There will not be peace until you are sitting on the English throne," Lord Wawrick states.

Harry sighs. "I will not fight with you right now, Lord Wawrick. You are very well aware that I think we should try to end this without any more bloodshed."

"It is not possible," Lord Warwick says confidently. "Now, I must leave and attend to some other matters. Your mother wants to see you in her chambers. Have a good day, Your Highness."

Harry doesn't reply, just watches Lord Wawrick leave and close the door behind him. When he's finally alone, he lets out a deep breath and sits down on the sofa, burying his face in his hands.

This war is driving him insane. It was easier to deal with before he had met Zayn. The fight for the throne essentially didn't mean anything to Harry, other than pleasing his mother and Lord Wawrick, and also getting a chance to rule over England. The people he was fighting against were just names, bundles of information about political figures he'd never met before. Sure, he'd seen their portaits and recognized Zayn easily once he saw him but they were strangers.

A few months ago Harry realized that he didn't truly want the throne. And that Zayn wasn't his enemy, he was just another young man groomed to become the King of England.

It was after a battle, the first Harry has ever took part in and seeing those dead bodies lying everywhere, robbed of their lives just for a squabble over the throne broke his heart. He hasn't been the same since and from that moment on, he's been trying to guide Lord Wawrick to more peaceful solutions.

When Harry first saw Zayn, he didn't feel any hate. He didn't want to kill him. The words of Lord Wawrick about how he should try to find out what Zayn is planning left his mind the second he saw Zayn smile. Harry just wanted to talk to him, to know him, to find out who Zayn really is. Certainly, both of them spent a lot of time threatening each other with death and heads on spikes but did either of them truly mean it? It's not very likely.

The future of England falls down on Harry and Zayn. They need to find a way to end this war without any more people dying in vain. Their own lives are being wasted too. Their youth compromised for a futile war. Their love not given a chance to grow just because Harry wears a white rose on his clothes and Zayn wears a red one.

Harry looks down at the ring Zayn gave him, sitting on his middle right finger. He hasn't taken it off once and he's not planning to, at least until he sends Zayn a letter. It gives Harry certain hope for the future because he knows the war can't go on with their descendants.

The war ends with them. Even if one of them has die for it.

xxx

_Wawrick Castle,_

_23rd of February 1485_

_My dearest lover,_

_I write to you with a heart heavy with longing. I have missed you ever since I last saw your face at your doorstep when you were kissing me goodbye. Our last day, I feared you would dismiss me as a distraction full of passion but you surrendered your heart to me and not a thing has ever made me as happy as that. But it has been too long since your hands have touched my naked skin and your lips greeted mine with the sweetest of kisses._

_My heart is full of love for you, my dearest. Every day without you is grim and full of yearning for you. Just thinking about the distance that sets us apart makes me sick. I wake up every morning wishing you were lying next to me. But knowing we will meet again gives me strength to go on and face the daily challenges of life. Even the most unpleasant of moments is suddenly a sweet dream if I just remember our days together. The nights were the loveliest, when our bodies joined together and the love we could not express with words was said with the most loving touch and the gentlest kiss. It was not a sin, as the Bible might say, it was the most beautiful thing. The most exquisite thing a human can feel because there is nothing else more graceful than love._

_There are so many words I wish to tell you but it does not feel right writing them down with ink on a piece of paper anyone literate could read. Not only is my heart longing for you but my body too. I touch myself with the memories of us but it is not enough. It is not you. The things I wish we could do together now but we are too far apart. And we have our captors keeping the idea of our animosity alive. If only if they knew about the love between us. Common folk think we would lash each other with sword wounds if we saw each other but it is so far from the truth. If only we could show our love to the world around us. Damn the roses, damn the powerhungry fools around us._

_It pains me to bring up politics in this letter to you, my love, but it is our responsibility to take care of England. We both know that this war has taken too many lives and too much time. It is feeding off of this nation's prosperity and I cannot sit by and let this happen. We need peace, my love. And we need it soon before another Kingdom dares to invade us and make us all their subjects. One of us needs to sit on the throne and rule and make the ascension to the throne as peaceful as possible. Even if we want it, our families do not. We need to figure out how to do it, how to bring back peace to England because if we do not do it, this age of chaos and bloodshed will not stop. Even if it costs us our love, the peace comes first._

_Lord Wawrick is trying to marry me off. Find me a bride that will have a claim on the throne too but it is plain foolishness. He insists I need a wife that will give me heirs to suceed in this war but he is wrong. Just know, my love, that I am faithful and I will not marry anyone. At least not while there is still a chance our love will prosper one day. Women and men throw themselves at me, trying to capture my attention and become my lovers but my heart and body want only you and you alone. The thought of sharing the most intimate thing with someone that is not you is putrid. How could I lay with someone else when you carry me in your heart? My own heart is fully and wholly yours. As long as we have a chance, I will not take another lover. Promise me the same. Even though I know your soul and I trust you have not bedded anyone since we parted our ways in York._

_I miss you greatly my love. You are my first thought when I wake up and the last one before I go to sleep. I do not know how you managed to capture my heart in such a short time but I would not change a thing, only perhaps confessing my feelings sooner than I did. I fear thinking about never seeing you again or the long days, weeks, months and God forbid years that will have passed before I see your beautiful face again. But I pray and I believe it will be soon. Our ways cannot be separate for too long, my_ _love_ _. I feel it in my heart and soul._

_With great sadness I must end this letter now but fear not, my lover, I will write to you as_ _soon_ _as your letter gets to me. I have been wearing your ring since York too. I can almost feel your presence next to me because of it._

_With upmost affection and faith, your love and sweetheart,_

_H.S._


	9. Wishing For You

(just a little note - the names of the lords and dukes are real but the characters aren't)

_Skipton Castle, March 1485_

Zayn feels like a prisoner in Skipton. Ever since he came back from York, his mother has refused to let him leave the town properly. Why? The answer is always the same - the war.

For more than a month, all he's done is study, train and attend meetings with the members of the privy council and his mother. It's just war, war and war. Talks of spies, of troops, of claims. For someone it might even be exciting but Zayn has been listening to all this drivel for almost seven years.

Ever since his father died, Zayn's every action had the be one that would contribute to his future reign. He was just a boy then and yet, he wasn't given even a moment to grieve. His mother started scheming even before the funeral took place and hasn't stopped since.

"Zayn, are you listening?"

Zayn turns his head away from the window at the sound of his mother's voice. He looks over the long table full of his advisors. His mother is sitting at the head of the table, opposite Zayn.

"Yes, mother," Zayn replies. "What else is new, gentlemen?"

"Well, Your Grace," Lord Audley says. The burly man with a grey beard seems nervous. "You need to prepare for a battle."

"Is another bloodshed really necessary?" Zayn asks.

"It is, Your Grace," Duke of Somerset joins in. "And as your military commander, it is my duty to make sure all things are in orded and this battle can be the last one."

Zayn sighs. "Has any of you even considered what I told you last week? That we should try and arrange some peaceful negotiations?"

Some of the men at the table have the audacity to chuckle. Duke of Somerset even has the guts to slap his fat thigh. Zayn sometimes truly wonders how such a fat man climbs on a horse, let alone leads an army.

His mother on the other hand, is staring at Zayn with daggers in her eyes. She knows something has changed since Zayn's visit to York, she just doesn't know what. It must be why she doesn't let him leave the castle grounds. Zayn would be majorly fucked if she found the letter from Harry hidden under a floorboard in his room.

"Why is it all so funny to you all, My Lords?" Zayn asks coldly. "Is the mere thought of peace so appalling that you will not even consider it?"

"My apologies, Your Grace, but that is just childish wishful thinking," Duke of Somerset says.

"Childish?" Zayn asks, raising his brows. "When I was eleven and my father died you all expected me to be an adult and now when I am of age I am suddenly a child?"

"No one implied that, my son," Zayn's mother, Melisende, says.

Zayn just sighs and rests his chin on his hand. "Alright. We are all adults so let us speak like ones. Why is a battle the better option to negotiation? I want to know your reasoning behind your decisions. It is my throne we are fighting for after all."

The men look at each other with wide eyes, clearly not knowing where to start. Or how to arrange their lies so Zayn keeps believing them like he did when he was a boy.

"Your Grace, we believe a battle is the best way to ultimately defeat Lord Wawrick," Duke of Exeter says at last.

His skinny face is pale, his brown eyes trying to avoid Zayn's chilling gaze. Funny how the worst liar spoke.

"Really?" Zayn drawls. "Why? Because he has much less troops than we do? How is a mindless slaughter of an a couple of thousands of soldiers better than negotiation? We know that our army is much greater in both size and ammunition. We will win the battle if there is no one on one combat between the commanders. And as far as we know, Lord Wawrick wants their own prince to command the army in the next battle and no offense, Duke of Somerset, but he is much more younger and agile than you are. So why? Why can't we settle this inside a room with no one dying in vain?"

The whole table is left speechless. All the Lords avoid looking at Zayn or his mother directly. Duke of Somerset is red with both anger and shame but he cannot speak against his future King if he does not want to see himself on the executioner's block.

All the men are scared to speak against the word of their Prince but there is one woman in the room who still outranks them all. Melisende is not in the slightest afraid to quarrel with her son and she shows it with her icy gaze never leaving him.

"Why do you care so much, Zayn?" Melisande asks, her gaze uncomfortably questioning. "We need to annihilate our enemy, your enemy. It would be the best if you killed the boy yourself. They have no other heirs left."

Zayn's heart starts beating fast in his chest, the idea of his mother trying to force him to kill Harry making him feel sick. He can only pray to the Lord she doesn't try to poison Harry if Zayn refuses to kill him.

"Besides," Melisende continues. "Even if we were to arrange negotiations, there is no way in this world that Lord Wawrick would just let you take the throne."

"Well, it is not _him_ who has the claim on the throne, is it?" Zayn bites back. "Since he does not have any claim so we would not be negotiating it with him. He is merely a figure in all of this, a figure that helps the Styles family but his word means nothing if there are no battles. They use him only for his bannermen. Besides, they _know_ that their claim on the throne will never be as strong as mine."

Melisende takes a slow deep breath, putting on a fake smile before turning her eyes to Duke of Somerset. "My Lord, the battle will take place. Please, do not take this as an offense but the Prince will lead the army this time. I kindy ask you to make sure he is prepare for it and we can finally extinguish our enemy for good."

"What?" Zayn exclaims. "This is what you wanted all along, wasn't it?"

The horrifying realization sets in. She wanted Harry to die probably ever since Zayn's father had died all those years ago. Her blank face and emotionless eyes staring at Zayn only confirm his assumptions.

"You waited until I was old enough to kill him, didn't you?" Zayn asks, huffing out a sad laugh. "There was never a chance at peaceful negotiation. You want blood."

"Leave us," Melisande says then. The Lords get up in an instant and promptly leave the room without uttering a word.

They are left alone in the sprawling room. A mother and her son staring at each other with aversion. Two people sharing blood but not sharing the same political views. One wants blood and no mercy, the other strives for peace and goodwill.

"Mother," Zayn breathes out. "You cannot make me do this."

"I have to," Melisande replies with eerie calmness. "Your father died fighting them but you need to live. Do you think their prince would hesitate to kill you?"

Zayn doesn't dare reply.

With a sigh, Melisande stands up and starts walking slowly towards Zayn. She sits in the chair closest to him and takes one of his hands into hers.

"Look at me, son," Melisande says. Zayn complies, looking at the face of his mother who had been his rock as far as his memories go. Now that he's older, he can see some of the lies she's told, the decisions she's made that erased the idea of the kind heart Zayn thought she had.

"I know you fell in love in York," Melisande admits. "With the Styles boy."

Zayn takes a jagged breath, pulling his hand back but Melisande doesn't let him.

"No, my son, do not worry," Melisande says with a smile. A chill runs down Zayn's spine. "There might be some... infatuation between the two of you. I believe he is not trying to trick you. You are smart enough to see that. But that passion will pass but you know what will not? Your Kingdom."

Zayn closes his eyes for a moment. "How did you know it was him?"

"I have eyes everywhere, mon étoile," Melisande says. "And you were not wearing your rose ring when you got back."

"Mother, he just wants the war to end," Zayn confesses. "He does not want the throne as much as Lord Wawrick does. Please, do not make me him kill him."

Melisande smiles wistfully, running her fingers through Zayn's hair as if he was a child again. "Kill or be killed, my dear. You are strong, I know you can make the right decision."

She stands up then, walking out of the room with no more words.

Zayn feels like he can't breathe. His mother knows and she is suspiciously calm about it. He couldn't even deny it because his mother has her damn spies in every corner of England. He shouldn't have been so foolish. Now Harry's life is in great danger because Zayn couldn't keep it in his pants and his mother is more cunning than all of England.

He just hopes she hasn't found the letter. Harry's squire was well disgused and didn't attract any attention. Zayn just needs to be especially careful when he sends a letter to Harry leter.

He cannot let this happen. He will not kill Harry and he knows Harry will not kill him but Melisande? She would kill the Pope himself if he refused to agree to something she wanted.

With each day, Zayn is losing hope that he and Harry have a chance at their love surving this war. Even if they both come of this it alive, it would be too difficult to stay together.

In spite of that, Zayn is keeping up his part of the promise that Harry mentioned in his letter. He has not taken another lover ever since he and Harry parted their ways in York. And he will not until this war is over and their love either gets a new breath or is buried for good. Zayn will love him for longer than that but their lives weren't meant for love. Zayn was born to rule and Harry's name too secured him a loveless marriage. He is grateful for the little time they had in York. If it was their last time together as lovers, Zayn will look back at it and cherish every moment. But for now all there is, is to hope.

xxx

_Skipton Castle,_

_29th of March, 1485_

_To my beloved sweetheart,_

_I cannot possibly describe how much I miss you. My days are grey without your smile and I constantly feel cold without your touch. Your letter greatly improved my mood and it made me incredibly happy to read your words of love. I too wish we could be together now and tomorrow and every day until we are old and grey._

_Your promise of being faithful to each other was of the sweetest kind and without hesitation, I promise you the same thing. I could not possibly lay with someone when my heart is longing for you and your love. You have my heart, my love, and no one else can even come close to touching it in the way you did. You are the only one I think about and my mind comes back to the memories of us in all the dark moments and the lighter ones too because they are full of happiness and love._

_I could write sonnets about your beauty and your tempting body but my love, we have other responsibilities before our love can flourish._

_I tried to convince my advisors, generals and my mother that a peaceful end of the war is in our best interest but they would not even hear of it. We are alone in this, my love. My mother wants me to face you in a battle and I will have to command our army when the next battle comes. We need to come up with a strategy because I refuse to kill the man I love the most in the world. Our love cannot have such a tragic end. We do not deserve to die by each other's swords in a field filled with death and bloody mud. Our fathers died for the throne but we will not._

_Please just know that I love you with the entirety of my heart and I would never hurt you, my love. Be careful, be wary because I cannot possibly know what my mother is planning in secret. Just know that if any harm tries to come your way, I did not take part in any of it. I will try to alert you as soon as I know when the battle will take place and I trust you will do the same._

_I am being driven mad missing you, my sweetheart. Do you feel this way to? I am drenched in fear because I know I will see you again but it will be on a battlefield and who knows if we both survive it? There are too many dangers lurking and trying to take us down. Our love is barely hanging on but trust me when I say I will not let go of it as long as I shall live. We have only prayers and hope now._

_I apologize if my letter is brief but I am pressed for time. I will tell you all of my words of love when we see each other. That keeps my hope that our love with live on alive. I refuse to believe we will not have the time to join our bodies together again and have no distance at all between us. All these miles are crossable. There are no worlds tearing us apart, just land and roses._

_With all my love and longing, your lover and admirer,_

_Z.M._


	10. The War For Love

_Wawrick Castle, April 1485_

Peace is hard to achieve sometimes. Men and women have ambitions that are sometimes irreconcilable with peace. Whether it be lands, money, status or the throne of a country. England could talk more than enough about people like these. With this war that has been going on for too long, ambition and self-interest need to be pushed to the side in order to give the people of England some peace and prosperity at last.

If only everyone involved in the war thought that way.

"We need him dead," Lord Wawrick announces to the room of Harry's advisors.

Harry tries to hide his emotions, the anger and fear he feels everytime Lord Wawrick and these other Lords talk about killing Harry's lover. What makes it worse is that they expect _Harry_ to kill him.

"We do not," Harry protests with a straight face. "If you do not want me dead too, you cannot kill him."

"Your Highness, we have discussed many times-"

" _You_ discussed it many times," Harry jumps in. "And each time I tried to oppose you, you shut me down."

Lord Wawrick scoffs. "Am I supposed to listen to your ridiculous plans of peaceful negotiation? If we arranged it, their Prince would kill you the moment you walked into the room."

"He would not," Harry says through his teeth. "For he is not a mindless killer like you."

A few of the people in the room gasp but Harry keeps his eyes set firmly on Lord Wawrick's face. The man is fuming, his blue eyes would've killed Harry already in they could.

"And how would you know that, Your Highness?" Lord Wawrick asks cruelly.

Harry hesitates for a moment, fearing that he's been exposed. "Gossip. Things our _own_ spies tell us. It is not hard for one to figure out that the Prince wants peace too."

"Alright. How would you achieve the peace?" Lady Montagu steps in. "What would you propose at these negotiations?"

Harry looks at the fair-haired woman. She's not watching him with doubt or badly concealed hatred and annoyance like the rest of the men around the room. Her green eyes are calm, open. She is not trying to mock him with this question like Lord Wawrick would.

"I cannot give up my claim on the throne," Harry says.

"No, you cannot," Lady Montagu shakes her head.

Harry takes a deep breath, gathering the courage to voice this idea. He has been thinking about it for a few weeks already. It is risky to disclose in front of all of his advisors but he needs to take this chance. Maybe some of them will agree. Lord Wawrick will not, Harry knows this already but if he has the support of all the other Lords and Ladies, he might get through with it.

"Marriage," Harry says as he stands up from his seat. "Their Prince and I would wed. Our houses would unite under one and there will be no futher dispute about who shall sit on the throne."

The Lords start whispering in mild outrage, some of them seemingly more shocked than other. As Harry eyes their faces, some of them look like they've been waiting for this idea to be said. Lady Montagu is looking at Harry with an almost invisible smirk. Lord Wawrick, on the other hand, looks like he wants to unsheath his sword and cut Harry's head off right where he stands.

"That is insane," Lord Wawrick says at last, effectively silencing the rest of the room.

"Why would it be insane?" Harry opposes him immediately. "The Prince wants peace so there is a chance that he would agree to this. He would have an arranged marriage either way. And I can provide heirs that will have both mine and his blood coursing through their veins. Where is the insane part? I cannot see it."

"The last one," Lord Wawrick scoffs. "How can you be a King and rule while providing heirs? Will you lead an army with a swollen belly? You will be just a King Consort, not The King. The people will see you as such too. That is why we have kept this part about you secret. You are not a peasant. The people still see childbirth as a weakness to a ruler."

"So you would rather see me dead than sharing the throne with someone you had not picked and having our heirs?" Harry shouts. "You wanted to marry me off even before the war ends. But you wanted a princess for me. You know what, Lord Wawrick? I would rather share my throne with another powerful man if it means there will be peace. I would rather sacrifice a piece of my power than see thousands of men lying dead in a battlefield, all dying in vain because of your ambitions and selfishness."

"How dare you say that?" Lord Wawrick hollers as he stands up. "All I have ever done was to get you on the throne. I invested countless of gold into your future reign. I married your mother when your father had died to keep you both safe! Do not call me selfish while you sleep under my roof and fight with my troops at your back."

Harry swallows roughly. "You did it all for yourself. When I am King, I will repay all that gold for you and I will make sure my mother never sees you again."

Lord Wawrick laughs bitterly. "How are you going to do that? Other than apparently lying on your back for the Malik Prince and opening your legs like a whore. You are not the man I thought you were."

"So I am not a man just because I want peace?" Harry scoffs. "And use marriage to achieve that? That has been a common practice in royal families for thousands of years. You just wanted to control me once I was King and if I shared the throne with Z- with their Prince, you would not be able to do that."

Lord Wawrick takes a sharp breath, his nose flaring like an angry bull. "You will fight in the battle that will happen within two months. And you _will_ kill their prince. If you dare to speak of this marriage nonsense again, I will have you hanged and your mother too. Now get out so grown men can speak about what is going to happen next."

Harry stares at him for a moment, trying to communicate all that hate he feels towards Lord Wawrick with his eyes, before he turns on his heel and leaves without a word.

He walks quickly to his chambers, ignoring all the people he passes in the hallways. He's never been this angry before. It's not helping that he hasn't gotten a letter from Zayn yet. He hopes he hasn't fallen into a trap.

When Harry opens his door, there is a servant inside. When the servant turns around, he sees it's not a servant after all.

"Good Lord," Harry says as he quickly closes the door behind himself. "Peter? You are finally back."

Harry's squire nods, bowing his head a bit. "Yes, Your Highness. I deeply apologize for my late arrival but Prince Zayn was not able to get the letter to me until the end of March. I tried to be as quick as possible but Queen Melisande has spies everywhere and I had to be especially careful."

"It is alright," Harry replies. "Do you have the latter and the ring with you?"

"Of course, Your Highness," Peter replies and takes out a letter still with it's seal and also the rose ring Zayn gave him in York.

"Oh, thank God," Harry breathes out as he takes the letter and the ring. "And thank you, Peter. This means so much to me."

"It is my pleasure, Your Highness," Peter bows again and leaves the room.

Harry wanted to thank him even more but the letter was more important. He put on the ring right away and then ripped the seal, starting to read as he was just sitting down on the sofa in his chambers. His eyes get filled with tears the more he reads. At first it's because of the sweet words Zayn wrote down but then with Zayn's warnings and the noting of his unsuccessful attempts to end the war the tears didn't taste of love and longing but of grief and despair.

Just as he finishes the letter, there's a knock on his door.

Harry sniffs. "Who is it?"

"It is Lady Montagu, may I come in?"

Harry hesitates for a moment but he decides to let her in. She might be his only ally in the castle after all.

"You may," Harry calls out.

The door opens slowly and at first he sees just a hand with rings and a blue dress. Then Lady Montagu peeks in, giving Harry a slight smile.

"Thank you for letting me in, Your Highness," she says as she sits down on the sofa next to Harry. "I wanted to see if you were alright after that disaster with Lord Wawrick. You seem quite upset."

"Oh," Harry remembers the tears on his face and promptly wipes his face with the back of his hand. "It was just- just a letter from a friend. I do not care about what Lord Wawrick has to say."

"I see," she nods. "Well, I just wanted to show you some support, Your Highness. You may know that I used to be a dear friend of your mother, back before you were born. Juliana and I, we were inseparable. Until she got married at least."

Harry looks at her with a keener eye then, realizing she must be much older than she appears to be. Only upon closer inspection one would notice the tiny wrinkles around her lips and eyes. After all, she is not weathered down by marriage and children. All that stress removed must've preserved her youth better.

"I did not know," Harry says quietly. "But thank you, Lady Montagu. I appreciate it. I have been needing someone to talk to in the past few weeks. My mother... has been distracted by the war and most of my teachers are gone now. Suffice to day, I have been lonely."

"You can talk to me anytime, Your Highness," Lady Montagu says. "You can trust me, which I know is not easy these days. But I am here not for Wawrick, I am here for you and Juliana. That old fool does not matter to me at all."

"Could you please call me just Harry?" Harry asks after a moment of silence. "I have grown so tired of everyone around me calling me 'Your Highness' all the time. I do not even feel like a real person anymore because I have not heard my own name being said for so long."

Lady Montagu smiles. "Only if you call me Helen. It gets too repetitive, hearing my father's name all the time."

"Alright," Harry returns the smile.

Helen's smile falls down after a few seconds and a rather remorseful look settles on her face.

"What is it?" Harry asks.

"I wanted to warn you about something," Helen says cautiosly. "I noticed the way you spoke about Prince Zayn. You said he would not kill you with such confidence and then you almost called him by name."

Harry stares at her, trying to keep his face blank. He cannot let anyone else finds out. He already has a bad feeling Zayn's mother knows about them, considering what Zayn wrote in the letter. Helen might have good intentions but what is she doesn't?

"I was not the only one to notice," Helen continues. "Wawrick uttered something about how can you know enough about Prince Zayn to defend him and he also doubted your truthfulness about what happened in York. I will not judge you if you met Prince Zayn and then did not tell Wawrick. But you did just that, didn't you?"

Harry huffs out a laugh. "Is it that obvious? Did I just expose us in front of Lord Wawrick and the rest?"

"Not at all, my dear," Helen smiles wistfully. "But you are holding a letter with a seal stamped with the Malik signet in your hand."

"Oh God," Harry sighs, looking at the letter he forgot he was even holding. "I would be dead if someone else came here and not you."

"Thank God it was me then," Helen laughs before schooling her face down to neutral again. "Why were crying? What did he say?"

"His mother might try to kill me," Harry sighs. "And his attempt at convicing his mother, general and other allies was futile as well. We are alone, trying to achieve this peace."

"I am with you, Harry," Helen says and grabs Harry's empty hand. "I will try to do everything in my power to help you put an end to this war. We will do everything we can so this war ends on your terms."

"Thank you," Harry whispers, a smile attempting to appear on his lips while tears start to cloud his vision again. "No one Lord or Lady ever believed in my ideas and plans. Your support feels like a good step forward."

"You are smarter than you think, Harry," Helen smiles. "May I read the letter? Or is it too personal?"

"I would like to keep Zayn's words to myself, if you do not mind," Harry says.

"Of course," Helen replies. "I assume you two younglings are in love. I would never let anyone read the letters Juliana used to send me."

"Wait," Harry frows. "You and my mother?"

Helen smiles down at her hands in her lap. "She was not always as cold as she is now. The war changed her. But the memory of her still lives on in my mind. Perpahs that is why I never married."

Harry blinks a few times, trying to sweep away the shock. "That is... surprising, to say the least."

Helen looks up, her eyes a bit shiny. She chuckles before shaking her head. "That is long forgotten history. Tell me about your lover. You met him in York, didn't you?"

"I did," Harry chuckles, looking back at their first encounter in the tavern. "Our version of flirting was essentially us fighting about the war and threatening each other with death. But I fell in love hard and fast, even if our love and affection were not voiced and we had to rely on our bodies to say everything. He is smart, gentle, loving. But he also almost handed me my arse when we trained with sword, so. Not to mention the more... private things, if you know what I mean by that. At first it was just that but then... it was impossible not to fall in love with him."

Helen smiles at him. "You two will be good rulers soon."

"I am not sure if we both survive the war," Harry sighs. "Our love had a very brief time to blossom. But it will stay with me forever."

"You two have great future ahead of you, Harry," Helen says. "You are young and smart. These old grumpy men cannot ruin the rest of your lives. You are both stronger than them."

"I hope you are right," Harry says quietly, looking down at the rose ring Zayn gave him sitting snugly on his finger.

"I do not want to sound like an overbearing aunt," Helen says suddenly. "But since you two were intimate, you were careful, right? Because if you were with a child-"

"No!" Harry jumps in. "I would not have put my entire future at risk just because the two of us could not control ourselves. I am certain about this."

"Good," Helen nods. "Because I noticed you were not training that often anymore, lately almost not at all."

"Oh," Harry rolls his eyes. "That is just because my teacher I trained with left. I did not have anyone to train with so I decided to focus on languages instead. My physique is in great shape either way. One does not forget how to swing a sword after two weeks."

"Well," Helen smirks. "I can help with that. I am quite good with a sword in my hand."

"That is great," Harry smiles. "How about tomorrow morning?"

"It works for me," Helen wiggles her brows.

And just like that, Harry found a friend and an ally in someone he never would have thought of as so open-minded and delightful.

xxx

_Wawrick Castle,_

_31st of April 1485_

_To the one that holds my heart,_

_My dearest I am writing this in a rush. My squire needs to leave as soon as possible to get this to you as quickly as he can._

_Lord Wawrick is planning a battle for next month. I will have to lead the troops and he wants me to kill you in cold blood, just like your mother wanted you to murder me._

_Our love has to be stronger than all of them. Please prepare well. And on the battlefield, once we will have to face each other and unsheath our swords with the intent to kill, we need to foil their pursuit to kill us. Neither of us is dying on that day. And if God decided to take out lives indeed, it will not be by each other's hand._

_There is a future for us, I believe it. Us against the world, my love, but nothing can stand in our way. At the end of this war, we will be victorious and we will be together. Alive, well, still loving each other._

_My heart longs for you everyday, my dearest. I try to call for dreams that will show me your face every night. I dream of us meeting again as free men and not enemies. That day will come, my love._

_With all the love, your faithful lover,_

_H.S_.


	11. Before the Storm

_Nottingham Castle, May 1485_

The battle is imminent. The air stinks with it, with the metallic stench of blood before it's even been spilled. Weapons are being prepared, armor polished, troops already moving to the place of the battle.

"My Prince, it is important you do not forget a single part of the plan," Duke of Somerset says, drawing even more little arrows on the piece of parchement in front of them.

Zayn's head could explode with all the strategies he's heard over the last few days. Ever since they arrived in Nottingham to be close to the battle location, he's been spending at least four hours a day with the Duke of Somerset and various other military personel. Not to mention the long hours of training outside with swords.

"I will not forget anything," Zayn sighs. "Are we done? The battle is in just a few days and I would like to get at least a bit of sleep beforehand."

"Yes, Your Grace," Duke of Somerset nods. "I have great faith in you and I know you will lead us to victory and annihilate the false prince at last."

"Thank you," Zayn says politely. He stands up, relieved to _finally_ leave this room after hours and hours of talk about army formations and weapons.

"Oh, Your Grace," Duke of Somerset says quietly, too quietly for the confident unapologetic man. Zayn looks down at him, waiting to hear more unncessary bullshit about war. But Duke of Somerset manages to surprise him for the first time in his life.

"I, uh, I talked about this with your mother a weeks ago," Duke of Somerset starts. He gets off the chair, standing up to make the conversation look normal. "You are of age and you will be the King soon. And as any other ruler, you need heirs. I have not heard of any talks about marriage for your grace so I dared to ask your mother if she gave the blessing to an engagement between your highness and my eldest daughter. Unfortunately, your mother refused so I decided to ask you directly."

Zayn blinks a few times, his eyebrows rising up his forehead. He shakes his head a little, trying to see if this is just a bad hallucination. "What?"

"She is _beautiful,_ Your Grace," Duke of Somerset gushes. "She has just turned sixteen and trust me that would be a wonderful wife for you. Your children would be of the highest beauty and she comes from a good family. She has a dowry and she had the best education a girl in England can get. You would be a perfect match, Your Grace."

"My deepest apologies, Duke," Zayn gives him a fake smile. "But I already have a candidate in mind for the person who will sit on the throne with me. My mother too, most likely. She would certainly want to see me married to a French princess."

Zayn's mind goes back to Harry. Their love will not be destroyed for a stupid war that's been dragging on for decades without a real end anywhere in sight. They will be together, even if Zayn has to fight every Lord and Lady in England, starting with his mother and uncle.

The angry look on Duke of Somerset's face makes Zayn reconsidering his previous answer.

"But I have no yet met your daughter," Zayn tries to save the situation. "All can change once I meet her. Would you please be so kind and bring her to court once we all return there after the battle?"

The Duke lights up like a little child getting a new toy. "I most certainly will, Your Grace."

"You will get my definite answer after that then," Zayn says.

He flashed the Duke another fake smile and leaves the room promptly before the old man has a chance to bring up another marriage proposals.

Back in his chambers, Zayn walks in to see his mother standing by a window.

"Mother," Zayn says when he steps inside. "What is the matter?"

Melisende turns around and smiles at her son. "A friend of mine who poses as Lord Wawrick's ally has sent me some intelligence."

"I did not know you had friends there. Or spies," Zayn remarks as he walks closer to his mother.

Melisende keeps smiling. Every wise man would know to run as fast as he could when she smiles this deadly little smirk.

"Your unfortunate _lover,"_ Melisande spits the last word like it was poison. "has been preaching about peace a little too much for Lord Wawrick's liking and he is trying to hit us even harder now."

"That is not news," Zayn replies stoicly.

Lord Wawrick is a maniac, everyone in England knows that by now. But he is just like a dog barking and then running away when you stomp at him. The only time his ludicrous plans ever worked out was when Zayn's father was killed in a battle. Not one before, not one since. His tries will be futile this time again, he's sure of it.

"Well, your lover had a bright idea how to stop the war," Melisande says with an almost grimace. "He said you two shall wed and unite our two houses together, erasing any futher chances for war."

Zayn takes a deep breath. "Why are you telling me this? You know he is right."

"I am telling you this because you need to get the fuck out of your dreamland," Melisande growls. "If he does not, it is only to your advantage. You need to kill him in a few days. Act like it. If not, I will take care of it and you will sit on the throne before Lord Wawrick can even blink. I am trying to be honorable by entertaining this stupid little war. They are weak. Their prince is weak. I could have them dead by tomorrow morning.

"If you do not perform your duty as the English Prince, your uncle will perform his as Regent and hang your precious little lover. If I do not get my hands on him first," Melisande throws one last nasty look at her son before she leaves the room, her skirt swishing behind her.

Zayn is starting to panic. He knows his mother well enough not to take her threats lightly or consider them just words trying to scare him.

He and Harry need a plan. A concrete plan how to get around all this and they need to concoct it before the battle.

So Zayn sits down at his desk and begins writing a letter that could save both of their lives.

xxx

_Nottingham Castle,_

_18th of May 1485_

_To my dearest sweetheart,_

_I miss you more and more everyday. The things fighting against our love are upsetting. I wish to see you again, I wish to kiss you and make love to you again but we will not be able to if our families succeed to pit us against each other._

_My mother has a spy at Lord Wawrick's court that heard you talking about us marrying would be the ideal way to peacefully end the war. And you are right, my love. As royals, this is the best chance for us. Why have you not talked about it in your letter?_

_I thought of a plan and I hope you agree with me because it might be our only chance at this life together._

_We cannot miss the battle because it would have terrible consequences for us if our plan does not work out. It will happen after the battle. I know we will survive because we will not kill each other and we are both skilled enough to fight off even the best knights in England._

_We will wed in secret, my love. We have to because there is no other way. I thought long and hard about it, spent countless nights trying to come up with a way how to end this war without another fight. We would need to kill Lord Wawrick first but then there are our mothers and my uncle. Too many people stand in our way but if we are already wed, they cannot do anything about it because the Pope will not grant them an annulment._

_Your bright mind thought of marriage and you were brave enought_ _to speak_ _of it in front of those vile people. Your heart is pure and brave and it only makes me love you more than I already do._

_My plan is that we leave ours camps the night after the battle. There will be chaos everywhere and Lord Wawrick and my mother will be furious that our swords never hurt either of us. We use that as a distraction and run away together._

_We will meet north of the battle, in the town of Market Bosworth. I will wait for you by the St. Peter's church._

_But you need to find a safe place for us to be wed. It needs to be less than a day's ride away and I do not know any places we could go in the south since I grew up up north._

_I love you, my dear, so much they could torture me and I would never take my words back. I cannot wait till we are united under the sacred oath of marriage and you are just mine and I am just yours._

_Us against the word, my lover. We will rule this country together, regardless of what our families want. There will be peace at last._

_With my sincerest hope and loving, your faithful lover and partner,_

_Z.M._


	12. So It Begins

_Wawrick Castle, May 1485_

Harry wakes up early the morning of the battle. The sun is barely out but the sky is spotless and the birds are chirping like it was fairytale and not a day when thousands of people will find their futile deaths. It's almost like the weather tried to be optimistic for the people fighting.

It is still better than if it was raining. Fighting in a muddy field is terrible and the death toll is even higher due to the conditions. Rain is making the visibility worse and many men die just due to spilling in the mud and being stomped to death by horses and other people.

Harry gets up from the bed after a few minutes of staring at the ceiling and questioning everything. How many souls are going to be taken today? What is going to happen after the battle? Are he and Zayn even going to survive this? The depressing thinking is making him even sadder and more worried than he already was so he decides to do anything that will make him think of the battle.

He sits at the windowsill next to an open window, looking outside at the beautiful surroundings. He just lets his mind wander, think about positive things instead of the war while he can. In just a few hours, he's going to face the man he loves in a cruel battle and while they're not going to kill each other, their families might take care of it. They are just two men against many more and while they outrank them all, it means nothing in the grand scheme of things. There are kingmakers and ambitious Lords looking for better status and more wealth.

There is a knock on his door then. Harry gets startled by it, but still calls out for the person to come in. It's probably just servants anyways, bringing him breakfast and coming in to get him dressed.

But it is Peter, his squire, the man securing the only link of communication between him and Zayn.

"Good morning, Your Highness," Peter bows.

"Good morning, Peter," Harry replies. "You are finally here. Do you have the letter?"

Peter nods, reaching into his inner coat pocket. "I do, Your Highness."

He walks to the window Harry's sitting by, placing the letter and the rose ring in Harry's waiting hand. Harry breathes out a sigh of relief once he sees the familiar ring and the red wax seal stamped with Zayn's signet.

"Thank you very much, Peter," Harry gives him a small smile. "I will forever value your service."

"Prince Zayn says you should hurry with an answer. He is still in Nottingham and if I get on road within an hour, I can still deliver it to him," Peter says.

"Why?" Harry asks, his heart accelerating in worry. "What is going on?"

"He would not say," Peter answers. "I suppose he reveals the reason in the letter."

"Very well, then," Harry nods. "May I have some time? Could you come back to my chambers in twenty minutes?"

"Of course, Your Highness," Peter bows and turns to leave the room.

As soon as the door is closed again, Harry peels the seal and begins reading. The first words are beautiful as always but what he reads next is something shocking to say the least.

His eyes fill with tears almost immediately and a strange wave of happiness washes over him. He can feel warmth spreading in his belly and chest, his entire body tingling in elation. Tears stream down his face but they are not one out of sadness but pure joy. The dreary day of death suddenly gains a new meaning. After the battle he will be with his love again. They will be wed and their love will be out there for everyone to see.

They will need to face many obstacles and get through them without dying but the end will be worth all the peril and suffering. Harry will be with his love, joined in the eyes of God and the nation they will rule together as Kings and husbands. No puny Lords with ambition that outgrows them will be able to stop them.

Reading the words Zayn wrote about them marrying might be the most beautiful thing Harry ever had the chance to experience. He understands now, all the stories about crazed love, all the mistakes powerful ruleta have made for love. The love he feels now is taking over his whole being but it is not clouding his mind as some would say. Harry has never seen the world clearer than now, he has never made better decisions before. Thanks to love, they will be bringing peace to England after many years of war and destruction.

Therefore this is not a mistake of love and passion. This is a step towards peace, towards a stable England. This is the proper start of their love. They will have decades together, of ruling, of loving each other, of being a family later on. They will help England prosper and they will teach their children to rule like they did so they can carry on the philosophy of peace.

Harry has never even dreamed of this. Marrying for love and happiness was not ever something Harry tried to achieve because he knew it would be hopeless. Now he is about to marry a man that was his greatest enemy for years. They are expected to try to kill each other today. Moreover, it should be their goal. And yet, not even this can come between their love.

Lord Wawrick, their mothers and the Regent's protests that are bound to come mean absolutely nothing to Harry. He and Zayn will be wed and they will certainly consumate their marriage as soon as possible so the Pope will never grant them an annulment. They are both of age and Zayn is the rightful heir to the throne. He could be sitting there right now after all. The Regent has to step back once he comes to claim it. There will be peace and God will see to their words.

There is still fear kindling inside of Harry. The battle could get out of their hands and even if they are not trying to kill each other, all the other parties are. They need to be more than careful now and stronger than ever before. Queen Melisende is unpredictable, God only knows how she will react to their marriage. Lord Wawrick will be fuming too. He hopes he and Zayn will be able to carry out their plan with no complications. Not just for themselves, but for the good of England.

Harry prays, begging God for this plan to work out. Not only for their love, but for the good of the people. Then he sits at his desk and begins writing a letter.

xxx  
  


_Wawrick Castle_

_22nd of May 1485_

_My most dearest love,_

_I cannot even comprehend the happiness I feel now. In spite of the battle happening later today, I cannot think about anything else than finally being yours and you being mine. Just the mere thought of getting to call you my husband in front of the whole world puts a smile on my face. Despite the odds, our love will make it. I can feel it, my dear._

_We need to find each other on the battlefield as quickly as possible in order to end the fight soon and save as many lives as we can. It is our duty. Since we could not stop the battle from happening, this is the least we can do for the poor soldiers fighting for this cause. I will be on my horse and you should be too. From horseback, we can pretend like we could not fight each other more easily. I will call back the army as I will be getting away from you. Do not be afraid to hit my armor, my love. We need to make it look believeable in order to get away with this ruse. I will not be hurt, trust me._

_I was just thinking about how we are actually marrying out of love, not because of an arrangement. It is under terrible circumstances, in upmost secrecy but it is still for love. I cannot wait until we are properly together. I cannot wait till we share a bed every night, till we touch anytime we want and there will not be half of England separating us. I am more than ready to start a life with you and share its wonders with you. I love you so much._

_I believe we could go to Binham Abbey. I have stayed there for weeks at a time for my studies ever since I was a child. The brothers will welcome us and they will not betray us. I trust them with my whole heart. We will have a safe space there, we could stay a few nights and they usually have a priest visiting them so there will be someone to officiate our wedding. It is perhaps half a day ride away from Bosworth._

_My beloved, I look forward to seeing you at night so much. It will be the start of our freedom, the start of our life together. Can I call you my fiancé now? I think I will. Even if we will be wed tomorrow, I will take much pleasure in thinking about you as my betrothed instead of my lover in the meantime._

_When we are out on the battlefield, think of my love for you. Think of the future we can and will have together. Use that to give you strength, to give you courage to fight as best as you can. Remember that I will be waiting for you after the battle ends._

_With eternal love, your betrothed,_

_H.S._

 


	13. The Road to Peace

_Nottingham Castle, 1485_

The day of the battle, Zayn wakes up with the anxious wondering whether the letter he wrote for Harry will get to Wawrick in time. It is the first thought he has and the next is the deadful realization that he will have to face the love of his life in a battle just in a few hours.

Even before breakfast, he went to the castle's chapel and prayed on his knees for longer than ever in his life. The plan is too risky not to. He and Harry will have to rely on each other, on themselves and on God to take up the things mortals do not have control of.

His mother seems cheerful, like the deaths of thousands slaughtered by her men bring her great joy. All the Lords that haven't already left for Bosworth the night before seemed to be in similar moods as his mother. It was making Zayn's stomach turn on itself so he retreated back to his chambers where he stayed until it was time to leave and start the journey to Market Bosworth.

He is still not wearing full armor as they leave for it is too heavy for a few hours of riding. Especially in this warm weather and sunshine.

Zayn gets surprised by Peter, Harry's squire, just as he is about to walk into the stables to get his horse.

"Your Grace," Peter whispers, gently grabbing Zayn's forearm to capture his attention. "I have a letter from Prince Harry for you."

Zayn shakes off the shock, taking the letter that's already in Peter's outstretched hand along with the ring. "Thank you. I am very grateful you got here before the battle."

Peter nods. "I am honored to help you, Your Grace. I must leave now, they could find me. I still need to get to Bosworth at some point today."

"Of course," Zayn agrees. "Goodbye, Peter."

"Goodbye, Your Grace."

Peter disappears in the darkness of the stables and Zayn doesn't waste previous seconds, breaking the seal and reading right away.

The content of Harry's letter warms his heart, making this grim day seem at least a bit better. He cannot wait to see him again, touch him and not just dream of it constantly.

Harry calling himself his betrothed makes Zayn smile. It seems like it isn't even real, this possibility of being with Harry and not hiding in shadows and night. All this fighting will be worth it. Not just for their love, but for peace as well.

Zayn pockets the letter and the ring too. He takes Harry's advice about using the thought of their future together to give him strength and courage. After all, he would do anything for Harry. This chance is rare and precious and they cannot waste it. Too much is at stake.

xxx

_Market Bosworth, 1485_

The war gets noisy on the battlefield. Shouts of pain, armor clanking against each other, weapons meeting in mid air. The sound is chilling to the bone but in the moment you don't have time to think about it. Only later you realized you heard hunders of men shout as they were dying and you saw some take their last breath. Blood mixes with the ground and creates maroon mud that seems so innocous because it looks like regular mud from distance. Horses stomp on corpses, people do too. It is a strange, like it was its own world and you do not care about anything else but surviving.

Zayn kills for the first time in his life. Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe the blows weren't deadly to the soldiers attacking him. Who knows? The death toll is too high either way. It could have been zero if less than a dozen of people had listened.

He spots Harry about an hours into the battle. In a shiny plate armor with a white rose on his chest, he is hard to miss amongst the men in mismatched and outdated armor. Just like Zayn, he is sat atop a horse, fighting off soldiers from above.

They clash at last, their swords meeting just like they did in York in the training room. But now everything is different. Zayn doesn't dare look into Harry's eyes here. He know the image would haunt him until the end of his days. Instead of that he focuses on the sword. They give each other a few blows onto their armors, knowing they won't leave anything more than a few bruises. If anyone who actually knows how to fight and understands military was near them, this little charade would be exposed because they fought like little boys and not men trying to kill each other.

Their act ends after God knows how long. They do look beated up, even if they aren't. It ends with Harry kicking his own horse. The animal goes wild and nearly throws Harry off but he holds on and then turns the horse around and gallops back to camp while yelling and signaling for the troops to retreat. Zayn does the same, calling back his own army and preparing to face his furious mother.

When Zayn finally reaches camp, Duke of Somerset is hot on his heels, yelling at him why the fuck did he stop the fight when they were winning. But Zayn can't even hear him. He still has the agonizing screams of dying men too present in his ears to listen to frivolous talks of a war that has outstayed its welcome.

In his tent, Zayn's squires attend to him immediately, finally taking of the heavy armor. There are some cuts an bruises on his body but he is still alive and missing no limbs which hundreds of men cannot say. Even before he is in his regular clothes, his mother pounces into the tent.

"You have a lot to explain, young man," Melisende spits through her teeth.

Zayn looks at her blankly. "The battle was going nowhere. There would not have been a clear winner so I stopped the unnecessary bloodshed."

Melisende huffs out a breath, coming closer to Zayn. They stand in front of each other, staring like they were about to rip into each other.

"There was just one person you needed to kill," Melisende says quietly with deadly quiet anger. "One single person. And yet you did not. You ran away."

"The fight was equal," Zayn says. "I tried. And he was the one to run first."

Melisende's gaze doesn't move. "Then you should have ran after him."

"And risk my own death?" Zayn asks. "His military officials were almost right behind him. I could not have defeated ten men on my own. And before you even say anything, yes I was on my own because the Duke of Somerset's fat old arse was nowhere in sight. I was out there alone."

Melisende is quiet, her eyes flashing with anger. Zayn walks away from her and puts on the rest of his clothes. She is fuming and thank God she is. Maybe this will finally show her that battles are not the way to end this war after decades of mindless killing.

"I need to fix this now," Melisende says but Zayn still doesn't turn around. "I have to discuss the matter with the privy council and you are not invited to join the debate. I will not have you spewing drivel about peace and what not. Find another whore to fuck and forget about the Styles boy before your thinking with your dick brings your country to its knees."

The tent door swishes behind Melisende and only then Zayn turns around. His squires look horrified. Zayn only sighs before he asks them to leave. And now he can only wait until the night.

If only his mother knew what he and Harry had planned. Zayn's quessing she would slit both of their throats herself. But she will not be able to do anything once the deed is done. Absolutely nothing.

xxx

As midnight finally gets near, Zayn prepares the things needed for the journey. He asks his squires to get his some food and water, also asks them to get the horse ready and fed. There are some things he takes along, like gold and some spare clothes. He also takes a leather pouch with a few other important things.

Zayn writes a letter for his mother to find as well. Just a quick note so she knows he hasn't been kidnapped. It says:

 

_"Forgive me mother for not confiding in you, but this war needs to end. I will not stand by and watch my people suffer just for your_ _lack_ _of compassion and good-heartedness. Please do not go looking for me. I will be back in a few days. I am alright, there has been no harm done to me. Everything I am doing, I am doing it out of my own volition. I hope you will have a change of heart._

_With love and faith, your son and King."_

 

Zayn saddles his horse well before midnight. His mother and the privy council were still debating and no one of importance could have seen him. It doesn't matter either way as he bolts with the horse away from the camp at top speed. The town is not even an hour away, he will get there soon and then the war will lose all its meaning.

He rides through the night in the darkness as fast as he can. The town appears in front of him shortly, illuminated by moonlight. Zayn doesn't get off his horse as he reaches the streets. The hooves make echoing sounds on the cobblestones of the empty streets but it is too risky to leave his horse behind. Anyone could steal it and then Zayn would be, frankly said, fucked.

The market square appears in front of him and by then, he still hasn't seen a single soul outside. Even the tavers were already closed. On one hand it's good because no one can see him but on the other hand his horse might create a rare disruption in the townfolk's sleep.

Zayn gets off of his horse only when he reaches the church. There is no one standing around it so he must have arrived before Harry. Since the town is dead, he sits on the front steps on the church and just waits. To be honest, he would take a nap but then again, one never knows what lurks beneath the dark shadows of night.

He doesn't know how much time has passed since his arrival when Zayn hears the sound of horseshoes hitting the cobblestone streets. He perks up, standing up in case it's a bandit or someone his mother sent to look for him.

But there was no reason to worry. Relief washes over him when a familiar figure sat atop a horse enters the market square from one of the streets. It's happiness and and joy and tremendous excitement for what's about to come when Zayn finally sees Harry again. For the second time today but there is no armor. There are no screams of pain. Zayn can now look at Harry's face and he will too remember the sight for the rest of his life but this memory will be one that will warm his heart everytime he thinks of it.

When the horse is close enough, Harry jumps of the horse and runs towards Zayn. Zayn then wakes up from a soft of a trance and meets Harry in the middle, the two of them colliding and their lips crashing together before either of them even gets a word in. They kiss like they haven't seen each other in years and not months, gripping onto each other as if they feared the other would simply rise off into air and disappear forever. Nothing could feel better in that moment than their tongues touching again, the heat of their mouths joining together in a battle they want to fight. Their cheeks get wet with tears of happiness, the salty liquid getting down to their mouths.

They part when it's absolutely necessary, both of them breathless but smiling so hard their cheeks hurt.

"I love you so much," Harry speaks first, his hands gripping Zayn's face. Zayn has his arms firmly wrapped around Harry's waist. He is not letting go off him anytime soon.

"I love you too," Zayn replies and places a quick kiss on Harry's lips. "I am so relived you got here safely. Were you hurt in the battle?"

Harry shakes his head, a smile still on his face. "No, my love, I was not. Just a few scraps and bruises, nothing I have not endured before. And you?"

"The same," Zayn answers. He brings one of his hands up to Harry's face and caresses his cheek. "Dear God, I cannot believe I am touching you again, my love. It felt like a dream, almost. I was scared I would never even see you again."

Harry covers Zayn's hand with one of his own, leaning his face into Zayn's palm. "I am yours, Zayn. And you are mine. Always and forever. No one can tear us away from each other. Soon we will be wed, together in the eyes of God and under the English law."

"I do not think it is possible to express my love for you with words," Zayn says.

Harry smiles even wider. "Kiss me, then."

And Zayn does. Of course he does. They kiss and kiss for long minutes until they can barely breathe. In front of a church in a tiny town, they reunite at last. They are together, never to be torn apart again from this moment.

"Harry, we should get on the road," Zayn says after an eternity of kissing. "How far is the Abbey?"

"Less than half a day's ride," Harry replies. "But I remembered that there is a monk that used to teach me at Binham Abbey that now resides in Leicester. We could go there first, stay for a few hours and then get on the rode around sunrise. It will be safer if we do it. The roads at night are badly visible and we could easily get lost."

"Are you sure it is safe?" Zayn questions. "Leicester is quite a big town after all. Too many people are always a worry when you are on the run."

"Not to worry, my beloved betrothed," Harry grins and kisses Zayn shortly. "We will be safe. We will just have a nice bed to rest in for a few hours instead of squashing our balls in saddles while stumbling in the dark on our horses.L

Zayn laughs and pulls Harry even closer to himself. "I trust you, fiancé. I feel bad because I have not yet given you an engagement ring. But I will give you one once we are back at court. There is one family heirloom that would look lovely on your finger."

"It almost sounds like I am marrying for money," Harry smirks.

"I would not mind as long as I have you," Zayn says with a lovesick smile.

"Alright, we should get going," Harry blushes. "There is a journey ahead of us and a bed will be waiting at the end of it. Save your sweet talk until then."

"I certainly will," Zayn says and kisses Harry's cheek one last time before they get on their horses once again.

This journey they are just about to begin will change their whole lives. It will change England too. They are united, ready to step into the married life and the life of Kings. Let the journey begin.


	14. With You In the Dead of Night

_Leicester, May 1485_

It takes them less than an hour to get to Leicester on their horses. They ride fast, too fast to have any kind of conversation while they are on horseback. But once they arrive to Leicester and get past the city gates, they slow down their horses enough to talk.

"Are you sure you know where we are going?" Zayn asks as they wander the streets of Leicester.

"Absolutely," Harry replies. "I have been here a few times. The house he resides in is not far from the All Saints Church. He should be there alone but there is a possibility that another brother or a student could be there. But do not worry, I trust Brother Fidelis. We will be safe."

This city a lot more lively than the tiny town of Market Bosworth. Even though it's after midnight, there are drunken people stumbling in the streets and even a few harlots call out to them, offering their services.

Eventually they get to the part of town where the All Saints Church lays. It is a lot quiter because no good Catholic would open a tavern or a brothel right next to a holy place.

The moon above them luckily lights their way because it is full and Harry can clearly see the thin tall house of Brother Fidelis. It's really a parsonage but currently All Saints Church doesn't have its own priest so the Church rented the house for monks and use it as a makeshift school.

When they get in front of the house, they get off their horses and tie them to a post placed there for exactly this purpose. All the windows are dark so Harry hopes they will be able to wake Brother Fidelis up.

Harry knocks on the door quite forcefully. He hopes they won't attract any attention from some lowlives that might be roaming the streets at this hour.

"What if he is not here?" Zayn asks after a few minutes of no response.

Harry sighs but he doesn't want to even acknowledge that possibility. He leans against the door with one hand and look downs at his dirty boots. "He must be here. And if he is not, we will just find an inn here in the city. It is risky but still better than travelling through the night for so long."

He feels a hand on his left hip and Zayn's body warmth to his right. The sensation suddenly takes over Harry, the memories of how they used to share the same bed coming in strongly. He missed Zayn so fucking much. It was unbearable in some moments. Falling asleep in a cold bed was harder when he knew he could share it with another wamr body, with a person he loves who would wrap his arms around Harry and Harry could feel his lover's chest against his back all night. Now they are so, so close to it again.

"Would be a bit reminiscent of our first night together," Zayn whispers into Harry's right ear before he hooks his chin over Harry's shoulder and properly wraps his arms around him from behind. "I still remember that look in your eyes before you first kissed me. Almost wild, feral. And it was so fucking beautiful, I knew right then and there that you would capture me wholly and completely."

"I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in that tavern," Harry confesses before trying the door again. "You are more beautiful than any of your portraits. Even though you looked at me with so much hatred, I just wanted you. Then I got you and all of that hatred dissipated into thin air and I could finally see how lovely and kind you really are."

"I could never truly hate you, Harry," Zayn admits. "I love you more than anything in the whole world."

"I do too," Harry replies. "We could turn around, maybe? So we could-"

The door opens then. Harry hastily removes Zayn's arms from his waist, gaining his composure before smilling at a grumpy-looking Brother Fidelis in just his nightgown, sleeping hat and slippers with a lantern in his left hand.

"Gracious evening, Brother," Harry grins. "We deeply apologize for disturbing you this late at night but we need asylum for the night. Could you be so generous and let us stay here for tonight? Just until the early morning, we must ride at sunrise."

Brother Fidelis blinks in surprise and then rubs his eye with his first. He takes a good look at both of them again, his eyes still squinty with sleep. When the takes a long good look at Harry, his eyes widen with surprise.

"Harry, is that you, boy?" Brother Fidelis asks. "I have not seen you in ages, dear child. Good Lord, but you are not a child anymore! You have grown so muchs since I last saw you."

"It has not been more than a year, Brother," Harry blushes. He hates when people tell him how much he's grown up and that he is not a boy anymore. It is so embarrassing. What, were they expecting him to be a gangly boy with a mop of curly hair forever?

"Might not have been but you are a man now," Brother Fidelis says. "And who is this handsome young fellow travelling with you."

Harry takes a deep breath. "This is Prince Zayn, Brother."

"It is pleasure to meet a friend of Harry's, Brother," Zayn says and offers his hand for a handshake.

Brother Fidelis is clearly in shock. He numbly shakes Zayn's hand before turning to Harry.

"I must be dreaming but I certainly cannot have the two Princes of England who have fought in a battle against each other just a few hours ago on my doorstep," Brother Fidelis says.

"I am afraid you are very much awake," Harry grins awkwardly. "Can we come in?"

Brother Fidelis shakes his head with a sigh. "What else am I supposed to do? Let the future King of England roam these streets at night? Come on in, you rascals."

Harry smiles at Zayn, taking his hand so they walk in together. He sees Brother Fidelis eyeing them suspiciously in the same way he used to look at Harry back when he was a child and he sneaked out of the Abby at night and then claimed he was sleepwalking after getting caught.

After Brother Fidelis closes the door, he faces Harry and Zayn again. His face looks quite horrifying in the candlelight.

"I am profoundly confused," Brother Fidelis announces. "Why are you two holding hands? Why are you two here together in the middle of the night? Why was Prince Zayn embracing you before I opened the door. If I recall correctly, you two are supposed to be enemies."

"Well, supposed to," Harry says. "The war... is ancient to us. It is just mindless bloodshed at this point. And we want to stop this."

"And how are you going to do that?" Brother Fidelis asks.

"We are engaged. We are to be wed tomorrow in the Abbey church in Binham. That is where we are travelling in the morning," Harry says. "We will unite our houses and our children will start a new dynasty in England. There will be no more wars for the throne."

"We are in love, Brother," Zayn says then, gripping Harry's hand tighter. "And if we can bring peace to England thanks to it, we are only happy to do so. Even if our families doubt us, we are capable of ruling together and taking care of our people."

"Oh, you young fools," Brother Fidelis sighs, rubbing his wrinkly forehead. "I will pray to God this works. I assume Queen Melisende has no knowledge of this plan because I doubt you would be walking with your heads on your shoulders right now."

"Our families do not know," Zayn says.

"Brother, could you show us to a room?" Harry asks.

Brother Fidelis nods. "Surely. Do you want tea or some food?"

"No, just in the morning," Harry shakes his head. "But could you please take our horses to the stables and give them food and water?"

"Of course, now follow me upstairs," Brother Fidelis says as he's already walking towards the staircase.

He leads them to the second floor, showing them to a relative small room with a bed for two. They walk in, placing their small bags with clothes on a dresser. Brother Fidelis lights a few candles in the room, a warm wash of candlelight replacing the darkness

"Now, do not sin here," Brother Fidelis warns from the doorway. "You are not yet wed. And this is a holy place too."

"Of course, Brother," Harry lies shamelessly with a grin. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Brother Fidelis shakes his head and shuts the door behind himself. He's known Harry's antics for too long to expect anything else.

Harry kisses Zayn deeply as soon as he hears Brother Fidelis' footsteps on the stairs. It feels like coming home, sensing the warmth of the person Harry gave his entire heart too. His fingers find their place in Zayn's hair, tugging at the strands that have gotten longer since February. It's been too fucking long.

"I missed you so much," Harry grasps when they pull away from each other. "I will never leave you for that long again. Never. No matter what happens."

"I cannot wait till you are officially mine," Zayn says. "I can already see us walking into the Windsor castle together. The shock and surprise on people's faces will be unanimous. And then we will sit on the throne together. You and I, bringing peace to England together."

"Aren't you worried?" Harry asks. "That they will not let you have the throne. That we will be pronounced traitors and hanged?"

"No," Zayn places a small kiss on Harry's neck. "My uncle wanted to end the war peacefully after my father had died. It was my mother who insisted the war goes on. I belive we will have him on our side too."

"I trust you," Harry gasps out as Zayn continues to kiss his neck and jawline. "Now take me to bed. We have plenty of time to talk about our strategy and plans later. I just want you to fuck me so hard I forget we had to face each other on the battlefield today."

Zayn dutifully starts undressing Harry as soon as he says that. His jacket and shirt first. Then he removes his own too and their naked chests touch as they kiss again, their hands curiously touching the skin littered with bruises and cuts from the battle. They dispose of the rest of their clothes and boots, leaving all of it in two neatly chaotic piles on the wooden floor.

The bed is uncomfortable, but still better than the bed in the tavern where they fucked for the first time. It does not matter as they fall down on it, still kissing and their hands roaming all over one another's bodies. They are making love this time, not fucking as two young men who should be enemies but couldn't help themselves and be enamored with each other. They are making love as fiancés, as future husbands and Kings. This time, everything is different.

Harry craved the feeling of having a body on top of his, his lover kissing him and making him feel better than anyone else ever could. Now he has it again. Zayn kisses him everywhere, leaves love bites on his neck, his chest too. He appreciates Harry's body in a way no other lover could. Harry's bruises are kissed too, the little cuts with dried blood as well.

Harry would love to flip them over and do the same to Zayn but he feels like Zayn needs this, touch Harry everywhere as if he was making sure that Harry is real, that he's here and he is not just a dream. And in a way, Harry needs it too. He was so fucking touch-starved that he basks in this feeling, of being loved and touched gently and with care. Some other night, perhaps their wedding night, Harry will leave his own love bites on Zayn's body. After all, they do have the rest of their lives to make love even every night if they want to.

The few months they were apart almost made Harry forget how well Zayn fucks. One would think he was a harlot trained in the craft but he probably just fucked one too many people. Harry would rather not ask for the exact number.

Harry claws at Zayn's back as he thrusts into him, both of them whispering and gasping sweet words. More I-love-you's than they could count are uttered in the few minutes before they both finish and lay next to each other on the lumpy bed, gasping for air with their hearts beating loud enough Harry fears the heartbeat alone could wake the city up.

After a few minutes, they turn to lay on their sides, facing each other and touching in any way possible. Their ankles intertwined, their hands on top of each other. Even a graze of their knees together is enough as they lay under a thin blanket and talk, their eyes scarcely leaving each other.

"I cannot believe I killed today," Zayn says. "Just... the feeling of my sword cutting through flesh and guts. I could feel it. I could feel the resistance and then the life leaving the man. An innocent man that was taken from his family because our families are too proud for peace."

"It is alright, love," Harry says, scooting closer to Zayn and intertwining their legs together. "Neither of us will have to do it ever again. At least not in England. Not to our own people. War will be the last possible option for every conflict with other countries we might face."

"Certainly," Zayn agrees. "There is too much violence in the world as it is. We have to strive for a better, more prosperous and more peaceful England. We will have to rebuild the privy council as soon as we ascend to the throne. Perhaps throw a few people in jail too. For our own safety."

"You are right," Harry says. "But I do not want to talk about that right now. Tell me how you were while we were not together."

Zayn groans, pulling him close so Harry can lay his head on Zayn's chest. "How could I be without you? Terrible. Your letters were my lifeline in that tragic chaos of politics and my mother's constanst nagging and threats. She thinks I am just fooled by a meaningless love affair with you. But at least she does not think you are using me so she will not try to murder you."

"Oh, how lovely," Harry scoffs. "My mother-in-law will not try to murder, how lucky am I!"

"I am so sorry," Zayn says and kisses the top of Harry's head. "She is like that. I cannot help it. She just wants to protect me."

"I know," Harry sighs. "I love you even though she hates me. I do not care about anyone else's opinion on our relationship."

"I love you too," Zayn says. "You know, I never expeced to be in love. My parents hated each other so much. My mother detests the fact that she had to leave France and marry an Englishman. She could have married the current French King but her father insisted she marry my father. So naturally, when she arrived here she hated him just simply because she had to leave her homeland. At first, she was treated just as a vessel to give him heirs. After I was born, she refused to have any more children. She told me once that it was both because she hated it and also hated sleeping with my father. Apparently, Englishmen fuck worse than Frenchmen and she told me about it to warn me because she would not want to hear my wife complain about our private life.

"So you can understand I am still trying to... grow accustomed to loving a man I am going to marry. Please never doubt my love for you. Even if I might not show it as much as you would like to. I simply do not know how but I am still learning, my love. I want to be the best husband I can be for you. I want you to never feel reluctant to confide in me or talk about anything, really. You are the most important person to me and I want just the best for you. I want to be your rock just as you are mine."

Harry listens to every word Zayn says and he feels himself tearing up. He twist in Zayn's arms so he can face him and pulls himself up to kiss Zayn as gently as he can.

"You love me the best," Harry says quietly after he pulls away, his face mere inches away from Zayn's. "I have never not felt loved. Each word of affection that leaves your mouth fills my heart with warmth and love. I know that you are my confindant, you are the love of my life and I do not worry about anything concerning about life together. I know that you have a kind heart and you treat me with the upmost love and respect. I could not ask for a better husband than you. I honestly could not. Besides, you fuck excellently and I can tell your mother that to your face if you are worried."

Zayn laughs under Harry and Harry joins him. "Thank you, love but I do not think that would help with the... dislike she has for you. But maybe once she starts pestering us about heirs, she will ask it herself."

"Oh," Harry sighs and lays his chin down on Zayn's chest. "That will be another thing that will come to bite us in the arse shortly. But I know you are here for me and we will get through any bollocks they throw at us together."

"I adore you," Zayn says with a heartfelt smile. "I am so excited to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I am too," Harry replies, a matching smile on his lips. "And I hope your vows together are at least half as nice as what you have just told me."

"Not to worry, my life," Zayn says. "I am saving the best for tomorrow."

"I hope so," Harry chuckles. "Speaking of tomorrow, we should sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us. We need the rest."

"We do," Zayn agrees. "Good night then."

"Good night," Harry replies and leaves on last kiss on above Zayn's heart.

They fall asleep wrapped up in each other in the middle of the night, in a strange bed, in a city no one would be looking for them in. They faced one another in a deadly battle just hours before and now they made love as two men in love who are to be wed soon. Harry slips to the unconsiousness of sleep while listening to his lover's heartbeat and it is the sweetest music to his ears. Just a little more than half a day and they will be joined together forever. They just have to wait a little longer.

 


	15. Behold My Oath

_Binham, May 1485_

Their journey to Binham began in the early morning. The sun was barely up when woke up and got ready for the long ride to the coast. Despite the worry and anxiety, they were excited and smiles couldn't leave their lips even as Brother Fidelis scowled at them and grumbled about their youthful foolishness. Nevertheless, the fed them breakfast and gave them a blessing as they were hopping onto their horses.

All of it was terribly dangerous. As they were passing towns and villages, they had their ears poised for any whispers about a search party looking for either of them. But thankfully, not one person realized they were in the presence of the future English Kings. Harry and Zayn just looked like two rich nobles travelling through the country. No royal banners, no crowns or royal crests. No red or white roses. They were just two young men, nothing more nothing less.

They arrive in Binham in early evening when the sun is still up but glows a soft orange that tells you sunset will begin within an hour. The sea isn't visible from here but the air has a faint smell of it.

Harry breathes in the air for the first time in two years. It hits him instantly with the familiarity, with the happiest memories of his childhood. He always loved coming here. There wasn't his mother with her talks of Harry seizing the throne. The wasn't Lord Wawrick with his subpar strategies and cruel words. Harry wasn't the prince his family wanted him to be in this place. He was just a boy, studying and laughing and playing pranks on the monks. While running in the halls of this monastery, he almost dared to hope for a simple life with no war. Now, he at least has the chance to give that to his children.

The path that leads to the abbey first turns down to the tall church and then winds down to the living quarters and other buildings. Harry hops off his horse in front of the double winged door he has entered so many times. He raises his fist to knock, a sudden rush of anxiety washing over him. His hand shakes a bit as he takes a deep breath, trying to muster up the courage to take the final step toward his happiness that could potentially lead to his demise.

"Are you scared?" Zayn asks, suddenly standing next to Harry.

"A bit," Harry answers, lowering his arm and turning to Zayn. "Who wouldn't be? I could get my head chopped off by your mother. Or both of us. We could be signing our death penalty."

"Do not worry, my love," Zayn says and kisses Harry shortly. "I would never let anything happen to you. My mother will never even lay a finger on you. I will knock, alright? And you talk. Us against the world, love."

Harry just nods and then watches as Zayn knocks on the door loudly a few times. He hopes the brother will hear. They must be nearby because the church seemed quiet and empty.

The worry still hasn't left Harry but Zayn wrapping his arm around Harry's waist helps a little. He leans into him and they wait. This is it. What else is there to do?

After some moments of waiting that stretched out like an infinity, the door opens. A young monk appears in the small crack and Harry recognizes his as Brother Bonaverture. The familiar face eases Harry's breathing.

"Good evening, Brother," Harry says. "It is good to see you again."

Brother Bonaverture's eyebrows furrow. "Prince Harry? Is that you?"

"Yes," Harry says with a small smile. "May I ask to speak with Abbot Dominic?"

Brother Bonaverture turns around, the fait sound of footsteps behind him. The door then opens widers and Abbot Dominic appears then. He is an old man with a bald head and a long white beard that hides his everlasting smile. His black robes always have a lining of dust or mud on the bottom hem because he can't stay away from his rose bushes and apple orchard, even despite his age.

"Harry, I cannot believe you are here again at last," Abbot Dominic hollers. "I heard some noise downstairs and I looked out a window and what don't I see? My favourite student! What brings you here, my child? And you have brought a friend too?"

Harry chuckles nervously. "Prince Zayn is not my friend, Abbot Dominic."

The faces of both Abbot Dominic and Brother Bonaverture fall when they hear Zayn's name.

"It is great pleasure to meet you, Abbot Dominic," Zayn says with stoic composure and an elegant smile. "I am not Harry's friend, not completely at least. I am his betrothed."

Abbot Dominic places a hand over his heart dramatically. "By All Saints and and His Holiness, what has gotten into you fools? And why are you here when your families are waging a war against each other?"

"As travellers, we wish to seek sanctuary here," Harry says. "And... we would like to ask you to officiate our wedding."

"My child," Abbot Dominic sighs. "We will be all hanged."

"We will not, Abbot," Zayn says decisively. "After we are wed, we will go to Windsor-"

"Let us discuss this in my office," Abbot Dominic interrupts. "Then we can talk about that marriage of yours."

Without waiting for reply of any kind, Abbot Dominic turns around and starts walking deeper into the Abbey, his black robes swishing behind him. Harry knows this place as well as the Wawrick Castle, if not better so he knows they will take the next right turn, walk to the second floor and then go into the third door on the left. He grabs Zayn's hand to guide him and to just feel his skin on his own after many hours on horseback. Brother Bonaverture shuts the door behind them and follows them as they walk to the Abbot's office.

The Abbey didn't change at all in the two years that Harry didn't step a foot in this place. The same tapestriers, the same doors and windows and furniture. Harry welcomes the familiarity with open arms.

"Do you have any new brothers, Abbot Dominic?" Harry asks when they're already on the second floor.

"No, we do not," Abbot Dominic answers as he opens the door to his office. "Please, come in. Brother, leave us."

Harry and Zayn take a seat on the two chair opposite the Abbot's desk. The Abbot himself plops down into his chair with a sigh, crossing his arms above his stomach. He looks at them judgementally, just as Brother Fidelis did, as anyone with a clear mind would look at them after hearing of their plans.

"Now," Abbot Dominic says. "Prince Zayn started talking about a plan?"

"Yes," Zayn nods. "After we are wed here, we will leave in a few days and go to Windsor. My uncle, the Regent, is looking after the throne for me and I can come to claim it at any time. I will do it now. I am of age and my uncle will not resist in any way, he has wanted to end the war for a long time. Ever since my father died. We are doing this not only because we are in love, but because our union will put an end to the war. Our houses will be united as one and our children will start a new dynasty of rulers. Having both of our blood in their veins, there will not be another war like this."

"Oh," Abbot Dominic sighs. "You are both so young and yet you have been warring for a decade. Are you sure this will work? Your mothers know about this?"

"They do not," Harry says. "But they have no say in this. Once we are wed, they cannot do anything about it. The Pope will not grant them an annulement because we would not be asking for it, they would. We will ascend to the throne and rule together over a united England."

"I will pray for you, my Princes," Abbot Dominic says. "Queen Melisende's rage will be of great size and I hope that no one else dies for this war, lest it be you. And you will need heirs, very shortly, because this union means nothing if there is not an heir that can continue your line."

Harry swallows. "We know. There are many dangers that can bring an end to our lives, if we do not do this correctly."

"I believe we are doing the right thing," Zayn says, looking at Harry as he grabs Harry's left hand in his. "For our love and for England."

Harry looks at Zayn and he can only feel joy, overshadowing the fear of failure and death. He can feel, deep down in his soul, that this will work out. That they will have a wonderful life, free of a pointless civil war. Their entire lives up until this point have been tarnished by it, their lives always in danger. It ends now. No more fighting for the throne, no more threats and plotting.

"Well," Abbot Dominic sighs. "Is there not a wedding to be held tonight?"

xxx

The remaining sunlight is shining in through the colourful mosaic windows of the church, creating beautiful patterns on the ground and the walls. All the brothers of the abbey are sitting in the pews. They sang a latin song before, as they were walking in.

Harry never thought about his wedding as something to be looking forward to. He dreaded it, almost. With an arranged marriage to someone he barely knew, what was there to be excited about? But now, he is standing beside the man the loves the most in the entire world and he could not be happier. The worry, the joy, the fear, the happiness. Everything about their union is alive, it means _something_ to Harry, not just a political alliance and wealth. He's doing this fully out of love. Out of his love for Zayn and for England both.

Even if he isn't getting married in a cathedral, this church is as beautiful as one. Even magical, with the sunset painting the wall and the floor in colours.

Harry's holding both of Zayn's hands in his as they recite their vows. They're looking at each other and they can't stop smiling, no matter how much they try. But they shouldn't. This is a moment of undesrcibable happiness and they will cherish the memory of this day forever. They don't need their families here, they don't need their friends here. All they need is each other.

"Ecce fides mea quad non duqam aliquam in maritus nisi te."

_Behold my oath that I will take no one as my husband except you._

"Ecce fides mea quad nullo tempore habebo aliquem in virum nisi te habeam."

_Behold my oath that never will I have anyone as my husband except you._

After they said their vows, they kiss for the first time not as illicit lovers, not as hidden betrothed, but as husbands and Kings, proud and ready to show the whole world their love. Harry's heart feels ready to burst with all the love and happiness so instead of that, he just burst in tears. They both laughs as they pull away, Zayn gently wiping Harry's cheek with his thumb.

"I have something for you," Zayn whispers before pulling out a small leather pouch. He proceeds to take out two gold rings out of there and honestly, Harry can't contain his gasp.

"When did you manage to get those?" Harry breathes out. "There was almost no time."

Zayn smiles, already taking Harry's left hand in his. "I had them made in Nottinham. They are simple, but it is the best I could get in a few hours."

"I love you so much," Harry says. "I do not care. I do not need a ring to validate your love for me."

"I would do anything for you," Zayn says as he slips the band on Harry's left ring finger.

Harry takes the other ring and puts in on Zayn's finger. Somehow this feels more concrete. When they will step into Windsor Castle, the rings will be visible on their hands. Even without saying so, people will know they are married, that their souls are bonded and their hearts beat in the same rythm.

They kiss again after exchaning rings, embracing one another with utter glee. They chose not to say their personal vows here and instead they're going to write them down in a letter and then give each other. It holds significance because for months, letters were all they had.

 _"_ There is a beautiful beach nearby," Harry whispers. "Shall we go while there is still sunlight?"

"Lead the way, my love," Zayn smiles.

They leave the church hand in hand as husbands, joined in matrimony in front of God. Nothing in the world can break them apart now. Not their families, not the war. The era of peace begins now.

xxx

The ride to the beach is less than twenty minutes long. Harry knows the path by heart and he could get there even with his eyes closed. The beach is certainly not the prettiest in England but it holds a special meaning and it still is gorgeous.

They leave their horses in the grass before the sandline and walk the rest. Harry recklessly starts undressing out of nowhere as he walks towards the sea.

"What are you doing?" Zayn laughs behind him. "It is not warm enough."

Harry turns around briefly, the majority of his clothes already down in the sand. "I have you to keep me warm."

Zayn rolls his eyes playfully and starts to undress as well. He looks glorious as he walks to Harry compeletely naked, illuminated by the warm sunset over the sea. Harry gets his hands on him immediately and kisses him deeply, like he's wanted ever since they has said their vows but it was too inappropriate for the church and over a dozen of brothers watching them.

Harry suddenly pulls away and grabs Zayn's hand before pulling him into the water with a wide smile. The water is warmer than it looks but still cold since it is England. They laugh, splash each other with the salty water but mostly they kiss. The sound of waves and the squaking of seagulls is almost a lullaby. In one moment, Harry wraps his legs around Zayn's waist like an octopus and from then on, he doesn't really let go of him.

As far as they can see, everything is painted will oranges and pinks of the late sunset and there hasn't been a thing more beautiful seen by either of them. Harry's convinced Zayn looks even more handsome with the sunlight hitting his wet face than normal. It feels like a dream, when Harry looks at him with the sea noises all around them. Like the most beautiful dream one could have.

But it's real. All of it is real and they have each other forever. This is just the true beginning of their love. Of their life together.

"Make love to me," Harry whispers. "Here, on the beach. I want for this place to hold the memories of our first night as husbands together. Not a tiny room in the Abbey. But here, under the great sky and with the sea at out fingertips."

They took a blanket with them from the Abbey so thankfully, they don't have to lay in the sand wet after coming out of the water.

Harry doesn't get his wish of kissing Zayn all over and leaving love bites everywhere because of the saltiness lingering on their skin but it doesn't matter. He still has this night, and the next and the next and an infinity of them. Instead he rides him, painfully slow but he wants this to last. He doesn't want their first time of them being married be something rushed and hurried. Harry wants them both to feel it, to feel every little thing and remember it for the rest of their lives.

"Promise me we keep this place secret, just for us," Harry whispers when they've already finished and are lying next to each other. "I want this place to be a sanctuary for us, where we will come to spend time on our own without anyone knowing."

"I promise," Zayn says. "We can come here sometimes in the summer. But I have some beautiful places to show you as well. There is still our honeymoon. If we have the time for it with the situation."

"We can take some time later," Harry says. "Even in a few years if the political situation does not stabilize quickly."

"I am glad we did not have to consummate our marriage with the ceremony," Zayn sighs. "That is just so embarrassing and invasive."

"Me too," Harry says. "But I am worried that our word will not be enough."

"We can say the brothers oversaw it," Zayn suggests. "Or just ignore everyone."

Harry chuckles. "You rebel. When should we leave for Windsor?"

"Windsor is abou twelve hours away," Zayn says. "And we rode for just that long today. As much as I would love to stay here with you forever, even, I think we should stay just two nights and then ride in the morning. The sooner we end this war the better.

"Alright, that is plenty of time for us to consummate our marriage a few more times," Harry grins and kissed Zayn shortly. "But we should do that inside from now on. I have sand and come everywhere, I am dying to take a bath."

Zayn laughs. "What else did you expect?"

"It was romantic either way," Harry argues.

"Oh, I forgot," Zayn says. "Take your wedding ring of, there is a message inside of it."

Harry half sits up. "Really?"

"Yes," Zayn says.

Harry takes his wedding ring of and looks inside of it. He sees the faint writing and he nearly cries again. _'Us against the world,'_ says the writing.

"I love it," Harry says after returning the ring on his fingers and kissing Zayn. "I love _you._ I could not ask for a better husband than you."

"I hope you still stand by that statement in twenty years," Zayn chuckles.

"Well, if you are fat and bald then of course no," Harry grins. "But if you are as handsome as now, they sure."

"We will see who will be fat and bald, my love," Zayn laughs. "But it will probably be you."

"I will bear your children for you, you may never call me fat," Harry argues. "And bald, well. I will get a wig and you will not even notice."

"Alright, I will not complain," Zayn smiles. "I know I will love you the same."

"I will too," Harry says quietly. "Forever and always."

They stay on the beach until stars are forming patterns over them and the moon reflects on the sea. It is cold but they barely feel it since they're skin on skin. It is beautiful, something a tale of love might have within its words but their story is not a fairytale.

Back in the Abbey they make love until the sun starts rising above the horizon but who will stop them? No one. They cherish every peaceful moment because they know that once they step through the gates of Windsor Castle, they won't have many calm moments for a long time.

Their love thrives and they are ready to take on any challange that will be put in front of them. They might be young but they are no fools. They are Kings, ready to take their country back and lead it away from the clutches of war that has long been unwelcome. May their reign begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading <3 You can talk to me here or find me @harryssecondguccishoot on Tumblr :)


	16. Charge

_May 1485, Binham_

This happiness is fragile. Harry knows it, Zayn knows it, even the brothers know it. Their wedding was a joyful event but what's bound to be followed by isn't in the slightest. There must be sentries out looking for them, groups of soldiers sent by each Harry's and Zayn's mother to find her son and bring him back. They were extremely careful while travelling, did everything they could to conceal their status and identity. But they could never be too sure about what their mothers were planning.

They stayed just two nights in the Abbey, sleeping in a small bed in one of the rooms meant for travellers seeking asylum. Their wedding night wasn't very exciting after they got back from the beach due to the size of the bed, which was tiny but they managed. Harry finally convinced Zayn to let him fuck him too, which he grumbled about how it was his wedding gift to Harry even though he clearly enjoyed it.

The last morning of their stay is spent making love in the tiny bed and properly packing everything. They must make sure that none of their emblems are visible on their clothing or the horses' armour. Then there's the last breakfast with the brothers. They all fret with packing enough for them on the road, on matter how many times they tell the brothers they're going to be travelling for just half a day and not a week. If they don't get thrown into the Tower, they will have a proper dinner in the evening.

There is still that kindling fear, that worry that even though the first part of their plan worked, the rest of it won't. Harry doesn't know Melisende that well, what if she cares more about power and the throne than her son? There is nothing stopping her from throwing them both into the Tower, killing Harry and then holding Zayn at knifepoint for the rest of his reign. Too many things could go wrong.

The Regent is also an unknown factor. Even though Zayn said he wanted to end the war back when King James died, he is still loyal to Melisende and has not rebelled against her all these years. What if he refuses to give Zayn the throne once he sees that he and Harry are married? After all, he is the late King's brother and if the King didn't have a son, the throne would've been his. And if Zayn dies, it will actually be his by birthright. _He_ could kill them both, even without Melisende.

With all this in account, there is still no option left for them. They can't let their country fall into chaos and war again because if they run away, that will happen. Even if they wanted to do it, they would not be able to because they didn't take nearly enough gold to secure them a safe passage to the continent and hide there. But all this isn't just for their love. They are also doing this for England, to bring peace to their people once again and help England prosper. Standing against Melisende and Juliana is a necessity at this point, not just a want.

They are still so young but it is their responsibility. No one cares that they are just kids, trying to fix a kingdom. If this works out, there will be countless of expectations thrusted upon them. Push back any rebellions against their reign, make sure they have the support of the majority of the nobility, pander to the interests of the richest and most powerful Lords and Ladies. Then they will have to gain some foreign allies, not make any enemies that could threaten them with war and above all, provide an heir. Without an heir, their marriage has no point for the country and the future. The peace is hanging by a thread if they don't provide an heir that will carry on their legacy and ensure the peace.

Harry's sure there will be an immense amount of pressure put on him to provide the heir. It terrifies him. Until a few weeks ago, he thought he would never have to bear children and now it is expected of him, he _has to_ , unless he wants another civil war on his hands and his head off his body, displayed on a spike. But no matter what Melisende or his own mother might tell him, he is not having a child right now. He will not be a King Consort, he will be a King. To be seen as one in the eyes of the people, he cannot afford to have a child just months after their coronation. It would undermine everything he and Zayn want to achieve as rulers.

As they're ready to leave and saying their thanks and goodbyes to the brother, Abbot Dominic pulls Harry aside.

"My Prince," Abbot Dominic says. "I just wanted to tell you that I will be praying for you every moment I can until we get the word that you and Prince Zayn are safe in Windsor and there is no imminent threat to your lives."

"I will write a letter for you, Abbot," Harry says. "I will never forget your help, your kindness that you showed us. Without you, we would not be able to get wed and bring peace back to England."

Abbot Dominic puts his right hand on Harry's shoulder. "You have a safe space here, Harry. Always and for any reason at all. We will take care of you. Even years in the future when I'm already gone, you can come here or you can send your children here to learn or to keep them safe, away from the intrigue of the court."

"Thank you," Harry says earnestly. "This Abbey will always have the royal support. Anything you need, write me a letter and I will do my best to help you."

"We do not need anything, just for you to be alive and safe," Abbot Dominic responds.

Harry smiles, hugging the Abbot quickly. "We shall leave not. There is a long journey ahead of us."

Abbot Dominic nods. "Farewell, Harry. May God watch over you and your reign."

Harry walks to his horse, jumping up on it. He looks back, waving to the brothers before looking at Zayn, who's on his horse on Harry's left.

"Ready?" Zayn asks him, a small smile on his lips.

"Ready as I will ever be," Harry replies. He kicks his horse and they ride towards a hopefully better future.

xxx

Their journey south is without a hitch for almost ten hours. No one gives them weird looks, the don't see any lookouts or search parties for them. No pamphlets about their disappearance anywhere. Even the weather is brilliant. All in all, their journey is pleasant.

It's not until the early evening when they stop to eat and water their horses in a small forest not far from London. Being their last stop, they discuss the last detail of their plan and rest for a moment, even if they can't truly relax because of the fear and anxiety regarding their plans.

"The gates of Windsor are open until dark in summer," Zayn says as they sit near a creek, the horses munching on grass nearby. "No one will stop us from entering. And then... I guess we will just-"

"Wait," Harry says. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Harry shushes Zayn, listening closely. He swears he heard some voices nearby. Rather than hope for the best, he stands up and walks closer to the road nearby, peeking out from behind the tree. Zayn follows him, muttering a 'What the fuck?' when he gets to Harry's side.

And true to the sounds Harry heard, a group of six men on horses appears down the road, one of them carrying the royal banner. A search party. Sent by Queen Melisende to look for Zayn, possibly for both of them. If those men aren't complete imbeciles, they would certainly recognise them upon seeing them.

"Fuck," Zayn breathes out. "What are we gonna do?"

"Nothing," Harry whispers. "Hide here. The horses aren't visible from the road. And if they do see us and approach us, we will just pretend that we are French and we barely speak English. You are half French, your accent should be more believe so you will talk first."

"Alright," Zayn says. "In the worst case we have our swords with us. These men are not knights or someone from the King's guard. We can take them out."

"I hope we will not have to resort to that," Harry sighs.

As the men pass by them, they don't even dare to breathe. If their horses make some louder sound, the search party will hear and they are fucked. They're engaged in a conversation which is a great advantage for them because they're not as aware of their surroundings as if they were if they had been quiet.

They ride slowly, their horses languidly galloping along the dirt road and the men laughing, talking about tavern whores. Typical young men.

"Where do you all think the Prince went?" one of them asks.

Harry and Zayn share a worried look. It's just coming to Harry that they have no clue what everyone's been saying about their absence. They didn't stop in any taverns on the way so they didn't have a chance to hear what locals thought. This encounter with the lookout might be both a blessing and a curse.

"He might be dead now," another one says. "I think he left to finish what he started in the battle but that serpent Styles got to him first and killed him."

"That is bollocks," the man with the banner says. "Have you not heard the rumours? The two of them were fucking. They are probably on the continent now, fucking each other's brains out away from their deranged mothers."

"I have heard that the Styles kid is really fucking pretty," the one at the back joins in. "They are singings songs about him in taverns. Anyone would fuck him if they could. If it is true, I am not surprised that Prince Zayn fell under his spell, especially with how he himself has been whoring around."

"How do you know that?" the man with the banner asks.

"I was stationed at Skipton for a few months," the one at the back answers. "He did not bring people back to his chambers because the Queen would snap but the things he got up to in town were wild. I would not bat an eye if I were to find out that had already has some bastards running around with how many whores he fucked."

"I think they are plotting something," another man that hasn't spoken yet says. "The Prince is not a man that would leave his kingdom in peril just for an arse, a cunt or a cock. He is smart enough to take that arse with him and rule over his country. He could have anyone he looks at, why risk everything for someone? It does not make sense. I believe he will appear sooner than later, probably with Styles as well. God only knows where they are now but they are exactly where they want to be."

"You might be right," one of them says.

The conversation then gets too far to be heard by them at their spot behind the trees and bushes.

"This was... shocking," Harry breathes out. "Is that really how our people see us? Am I a serpent?"

"No," Zayn insists. "And I am not a whore, no matter what they said."

Harry looks at him with raised brows, clearly seeing through him.

"What?" Zayn huffs. "I am not. Just because I liked to have a bit of fun between all the lessons and training and my mother nagging me does not mean I will stick my cock into anyone."

"You are married now," Harry says. "Your cock is my property. No, do not try to protest, it is. Either way, we do not have the best image right now. I am a pretty serpent and you are a whore. This is not good for us."

"They do not hate us, Harry," Zayn says, taking one of Harry's hands in his. "Did you hear what they said? They do not even mind the idea of us being together. They do not hate us like they hate our mothers. We can do this, love. We will... tour the kingdom and do good things for the people. We will not be afraid to go outside and meet them. No hiding in castles. Everything will be just fine."

"If we are not beheaded tonight," Harry sighs.

"We will not be," Zayn declares. "Let's get on the road again. We need to get to Windsor before everyone retreats to their chambers for the night."

Zayn kisses him, holding Harry's cheek with his free hand. "I love you, Harry. Do you trust me?"

"I do," Harry nods.

"Then c'mon. We have a few hours till we reach Windsor. Then we will face that shitstorm waiting for us."

xxx

The sun is setting as they near Windsor. Not many people are in the streets but the few still milling around watch them like hawks. Harry believes some of them have put two and two together and realised what is going on. Two young men perfectly matching the description of two missing princes, charging on Windsor castle with no army.

The bespoke long road reaching the gates is grandiose and it feels regal. Harry's heart is beating in his chest faster than ever before but he knows he needs to be strong. He is not alone after all, he has the love of his love by his side and they will protect each other until the day they die, even if that day ends up being today. But Harry is trying to believe that all this fear and anticipation will cumulate and turn into something good. He _needs_ to believe that after some more struggle and fighting, he will be happy and safe, and so will be his kingdom.

The gates loom over them as a boogeyman. They will mark the end of a chapter in their lives. The time when they are boys and Princes is about to end because once they step through these gates, they will be men and Kings, coming to claim the throne. This is a milestone of their destiny.

They don't stop to speak or look at each other before entering. Everything has been said before. They don't need a farewell or words of encouragement. This is what they were born to do. This was written somewhere in their stars and every decision, every unnecessary death and all the hardship lead to this moment.

Servants and courtiers walking the ground stop and stare at them. They whispers loudly, some even gasp. These people are highborn, they have seen at least one of them so their identity isn't a guessing game for them, they know for sure it's their Prince and the Prince traitor who have been missing for almost a week. Now they are here, unharmed and together, not a single scrape or a bruise on them. No foreign army walking behind them with their captor. They are free men.

Harry doesn't really look at the shocked faces of the people around them. He stares straight ahead, his head held high, eyes on the huge wooden door leading to the palace. They both lead their horses straight to the entrance, ignoring the worried and angry looks of the guards.

They hop of their horses at the same time, walking to the door confidently. The guards block the door with their spears like they would to any intruder.

"Let us pass," Zayn says. "If you value your life, you will put down your weapons immediately."

Harry has never heard Zayn speak like this. It's confident, certain. He speaks like the King he is bound to be and Harry finds another thing about him that he loves.

"We have strict commands from the Queen that no intruder shall be let it," one of them says.

"This is my _home,_ " Zayn says. "I am Prince Zayn, your future Kings and if you do not want to end up in a cell or on the gallows, you will let me in."

"We know who you are, Your Grace," the other guard says. "But your companion is a traitor."

"He is your future King too and if you do not open that door right this moment, I am drawing my sword," Zayn warns them.

The guards look at each other with clear confusion and worry. The one on the right that seems to be the older out of the two nods, and they reluctantly open the door.

Zayn looks at Harry, this almost invisible smile on his lips, and grabs his hand. They walk inside and then there is truly no turning back.

"We are going to the throne room," Zayn says as the walk swiftly. "My uncle should be there and judging by what the guards said, my mother is in the castle as well."

Harry has never been in Windsor before so the place is strange to him, but after all, it is a castle like any other. This one is just fancier and more beautiful and bigger because the royal family resides here.

He's clutching Zayn's hand so hard it probably hurts but Harry has this irrational fear about letting him go. It's like in that moment the touch was the only thing keeping them together, holding their plans and their future together.

They pass some courtiers along the way, some of them gasping, some of them bowing and saying 'Your Grace'. But their goals isn't chatting up some members of the court. Their goals lay within the throne room.

At last, they reach the throne room on the upper floor. The door is grand and heavy, with two guards standing in front of them. These two probably don't listen to Melisende as dutifully as those outside because when they see who's approaching the door, they scramble for the doorhandles right away and open the door without any protests and negotiation.

Harry and Zayn share a look in motion as the step inside the room. These next seconds, minutes, hours will determine their future and it's all reflecting in their eyes. Fear, worry, dread. But also courage, determination and bravery. They are not weak and they know it. They _can_ defeat anyone who opposes them.

The room is full of courtiers and ladies, mingling and talking and plotting. Servants are walking around with food and not everyone is looking at the door. Their arrival wasn't announced so their attention stayed where it was. But once they do get notices as they stand in front of the now closed door, the people goes into a mild panic.

But it doesn't affect them. They look at the end of the columned pathway towards the thrones, where the thrones are occupied by the Regent and Melisende. Harry sees them for the first time in that moment, just like he did the castle. Melisende is beautiful, just like the rumours said. He can see the resemblance between her son and her. To tell the truth, Zayn inherited his beauty from her because his uncle isn't handsome in the slightest and Harry doubts his older brother was.

Melisende's face turns nearly green when she sees them. Her hands grasp the armrests of the throne so hard hurt knuckles turn white. Even from distance, Harry can see her gritting her teeth together. But she's silent, even as they stop to stand in front of her and the Regent.

The Regent on the other hand, looks mostly calm. There is some surprise lining his features but no anger as there is with Melisende.

"Good evening Mother, Uncle," Zayn says, his voice smooth and powerful. "I apologise if I caused you any hardship with my leaving. We encountered a search party looking for me on the way here, but those were not necessary. I was fine, I left you a note. I left to put an end to the war and to marry the man I love. Now I am home and I have come to claim my birthright. I have come to claim my throne."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading :) If you have question or theories (which are very welcome as always), leave them in the comments or you can reach me on Tumblr @harryssecondguccisuit :)


	17. Winners and Losers

_May 1485, Windsor Castle_

Silence in a room packed with people is always more deafening than all the other kinds of silence. The ability of a large number of adults be quiet and make the room seem like there is not a soul breathing is chilling.

The throne room is full and yet everyone is silent. With Zayn's last words, the energy in the room grew from shocked to fearful. With Melisende's killing look in her eyes, Harry isn't surprised the room is worried.

But Harry isn't scared. Zayn is still firmly holding his left hand, standing tall and brave and Harry has never loved him more than in this moment.

Melisende takes a deep breath. "You some here and stand before your Uncle and I while holding that usurper's hand like his family didn't kill your Father the King."

"That usurper is my husband," Zayn says clearly. "And Father killed Harry's Father too. That is why I am standing here with him. I do not want us to kill each other like our Fathers did. It is over, Mother. The war cannot go on any longer."

The room isn't quiet anymore, the silence overtaken by whispers. The nobles' reaction is understandable. They have two Princes who faced each other in a battle stand in the room and say they are married. Two Princes who are supposed to be one another's greatest enemy and not husbands. Every single soul is anticipating this showdown between their Prince and his Mother.

"So you married a traitor to stop the war?" Melisende scoffs. "Is that what you are trying to say?"

"I married an honest man out of love," Zayn says. "He is not _my_ enemy and I came to understand that once I had met him. Having come to know his soul, I fell in love and we came up with an idea how to stop this futile war. You cannot end this war any other way, Mother. And I would not stand by and watch how you had everyone killed because that is the only other option. Our kingdom needs peace and not an outdated war."

"You are a fool," Melisende spits out. "He is trying to trick you, I can see it now. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt because I had never heard words about him being cunning and cruel. But I was mistaken. He is just as false and fraudulent as his family."

"He is not a fool," Harry says. Melisende sets her burning gaze on him but Harry doesn't falter. She is wrong about everything and he knows his mother-in-law will never believe him but she is not the only person in the room. Harry needs to show who he truly is not only to her, but to the nobility and his people as well. He has grown tired of rumours, he has grown tired of pretending.

"I love your son, Your Grace," Harry continues. "I fell in love with him while I was still intertwined in the schemes created by Lord Wawrick but you were plotting against us too. That was the war. But then I met your son and I could not bring myself to hate him. I was expected to kill him and I had my hands on him and yet I could not bring myself to hurt him in any way. After our time together in York, I knew I could never hurt him. I am telling you that my only intentions are to be with the man I love and to bring peace to England, to save those innocent lives lost in this war. You can interrogate me, you can torture me and my answer will not change. I am _not_ a traitor. I shall not be punished and judged for the crimes of my ancestors. I do not want the rest of my life ruined by a war I did not ask to fight in, in the first place."

"And I am supposed to believe all this?" Melisende arches her brows. "Do you think I am a dimwit?"

"No," Harry replies. "I do not need your trust or belief. I just want you to accept me as your son's husband and King. I do not care if you think that I am lying and I do not care if you will hate our children. We are doing what is best for England and if you fail to see that, it is not my concern as long as I have Zayn by my side and England is not being kicked into the ground by a war that should have ended decades ago."

"Uncle, please say something," Zayn pleads before Melisende can step in.

The Regent looks at Melisende instead. "You know I cannot keep him from his throne."

Melisende purses her lips. "No, you cannot." She stands up from the throne, taking two small steps. "But I can keep the whore he married from it."

The gasps of the people watching all this are _loud._ They are rightly so. No other Queen would call her son-in-law a whore in front of half the court.

Harry only stares at her. A few months ago he might have started crying but he doesn't care now. Melisende is cruel and he will not let her wreak terror over England anymore. A nasty name cannot keep him from Zayn and peace for his country.

"Mother, do not call my-"

"Zayn, it is alright," Harry says and squeezes his hand. "She cannot hurt me with words."

"Everyone, get out of this room. Immediately," Melisende calls out. The door instantly opens and the masses of people pour out quickly out of fear of their Queen. Melisende is silent until no one other than them and two guards are in the room.

"You will get an annulment," Melisende declares. "And out of kindness, I will keep your whore locked in a cell with his mother and that fool Lord Wawrick until he rots instead of killing him like I should."

"You will do no such thing," Zayn says resolutely. "I will exile you, Mother. You will cause no harm to my husband or his family. And there will be no annulment. There are no grounds for it. We consummated our marriage, more than once mind you, and most importantly, we are not asking for it. The Pope will _never_ grant an annulment for a marriage that is not the person's who asked for it in the first place."

"Melisende," John speaks up wearily. "Leave the boys alone. There is nothing you can do."

Melisende breathes in, her nostrils flaring out. Her gaze is burning through Harry. Not a single human has ever looked at him with so much hate. She then turns to the Regent, relieving Harry of that spotlight.

"I must protect my son, John," she tells him. "He is going to be a puppet in the hands of our enemy."

"Have a little faith in him, Melisende," John says. "Let him think for himself. If he gets burned, it will be a lesson for him. You cannot coddle him like a child anymore."

Melisende scoffs. "Have it your way then. I am taking my hands away. If we all find ourselves dead or rotting in cells because my son chose to fuck a treasonous whore, if I die before you I will fucking haunt you."

She then leaves through a side door without taking a single look at Harry and Zayn. She slams the door behind her so loud that the Regent jerks.

John sighs, rubbing his temples. "I will not discuss all this tonight, Zayn. I am glad to see you alive, your Mother is too but she presents her worry and relief in a different way. You two should get settled in. Your old chambers are not occupied and they are ready for use if you want to."

"That would good, thank you," Zayn nods. "So you will step down from the throne?"

"Of course," John smiles a little. "I have been trying to get you here for quite some time but your Mother insisted you were not ready yet. I supposed she needed a wakeup call as shocking as this. We will meet tomorrow. Along with the Privy Council. The transition of power will take a few days."

"Thank you, Uncle," Zayn says, his voice softer and quieter than before. The relief can evident. At least one part if all this has worked out. So far.

"You so not need to thank me," John says. "I am glad to help you with your reign. Now go, boys. You must have had a long journey to get here. I will have some food sent to your chambers."

Zayn leads Harry out of the room through the side door Melisende used, offhandedly remarking that it's the quickest way to his chambers. Once they are in the hallway, Harry can't take it any longer and wraps Zayn in a tight hug, feeling like he can finally breathe again.

"I love you so much," Harry whispers into Zayn's neck. "You were so brave, standing up to your Mother like that."

" _You_ were brave, babe," Zayn chuckles softly, kissing Harry's temple. "You saw my Mother for the first time today and you just... you stood your ground and you were so brave and smart and I love you even more for this. I will never let her lay a finger on, Harry. No matter what happens, she will not hurt you."

Harry pulls back, looking at Zayn. He wants to voice all his other worries, the terrible fear that is consuming him but they deserve a moment of celebration. The Regent being seemingly on their side and leaving the throne without any resistance is a huge win for them. But there is still the vulnerable time until the official coronation.

He kisses Zayn then, with relief because Harry feared that would not get to do it ever again because he, or the both of them, would be dead. However, they do have a chance at a happy future now. And that is worth celebrating.

xxx

The chambers are bigger than any other that Harry has stayed in, unsurprisingly so because this is the royal palace. A servant comes in just moments after them, carrying a tray heavy with food and a pitcher of wine and water. Harry ignores it, walking to the bedroom instead. He plops down on the comfortable bed, finally a proper one and not the tiny thing they had slept in the past few days. Zayn follows him, carrying the two pitchers and glasses.

"You are not hungry?" he asks Harry as he pours himself a glass of wine.

"No," Harry drawls and puts his hands behind his head. "But give me some wine. I need to... dull my brain a bit."

Moments later Harry has to sit up again because Zayn thrusted a glass of wine into his hand and the last thing Harry wants right now is to spill it all over the sheets and have servants running around changing them.

"Do you think the servants will come to attend us?" Harry asks after sipping his wine. He and Zayn both are sitting with their backs leaned against the headboard of the bed, drinking their wine and just finally breathing for a bit.

"I hope not," Zayn sighs. "As much as I love the comfort of living in a castle, I hate the lack of privacy. It is not hard to put on clothes myself. I do not need three people to attend me in the morning and the evening."

"I know," Harry groans. "But I am afraid that we will have to endure it soon if we do not want the whole court talking crap about us. If we refuse servants to dress us they are capable of coming up with a story that I have a tail or something."

Zayn laughs which brings Harry to join him. Harry looks at him and warmth spreads over his chest when he sees his husband's smile. It's so good to have some reason to be happy, other than their marriage. There is some semblance of a future for them now.

"I would love you even with a tail," Zayn grins from behind his glass. "But we are lucky we are not in France. I used to spend my summers there and just... the attending is taken pretty seriously there. Sometimes even courtiers come to look. Like... who would care about the King's fucking underwear?"

"I would," Harry smirks. "But only if the King in question is you."

"Cheeky," Zayn grins, putting his glass on the bedside table before rolling over and draping himself over Harry. "Are you trying to suggest something by that?"

Harry puts his glass away. "No. We are not fucking tonight, I am too tired for that. Can we just lay together? I want to touch you, but in the most basic way possible."

"Of course," Zayn smiles. "Let's just get these dusty clothes off first, how about that?"

Harry nods and he promptly gets up to undress. He carelessly leaves all his clothes except his underwear on the floor and hops back into bed, pulling Zayn in once he has undressed too. Laying his head on Zayn's chest, Harry wraps himself around his husband which he has found to be his favourite moment, place, position to be in, in the whole universe.

"You are cuddly tonight," Zayn remarks, his fingers already playing with Harry's hair.

"With you I am always," Harry mumbles. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift off. Sleep isn't necessarily the goal, but he needs to just close his eyes and be in complete darkness for a while. But it isn't a good strategy. His mind is littered with thoughts, both good and bad and it's just too busy for sleep.

At first, Harry tries to just focus on the positive thoughts. The Regent is stepping back and honestly, that was the biggest worry for them. He is not listening to Melisende and no matter what she says, the throne isn't hers. She can kick and scream and threaten Harry all she can, at the end of the day Zayn and him will sit on the throne and rule.

He tries to think about their future, picture the good things, not the fights they need to face first. Their coronation, their marriage, their children. There are so many things to look forward too, if they get the chance to make them all a reality. They still don't know how many people stand by their ideology, if the nobles will support them. Harry still has no idea what is going on with his Mother and Lord Wawrick. What if they are plotting something? What if Lord Wawrick hurt his Mother?

Harry is a stranger in this castle. The only person he can trust is holding him right now but there are many more people in court. Some think he is a traitor, a usurper. Some believe he is just a stupid whore that secured his position as King by opening his legs and tricking Zayn. Some think all of the things Harry has done are just a part of a convoluted plan to steal the throne and then kill everyone. He does not have his squires here, his servants. He doesn't have his family or friends here. He is nearly completely alone.

Most importantly, Harry isn't safe here. While Melisende is in the castle, Harry's life is always at a risk. She is very well known for her poisons, which she uses to get rid of her enemies with utter glee. Harry has no clue which people are loyal to her and her only. Even if there are many that are loyal to the Regent and then they will be loyal to Zayn, Melisende will always have those who will do her bidding. Harry could be killed tomorrow while simply having breakfast and no one will be able to do anything about it.

"Zayn?" Harry whispers. He can feels tears prickling the corners of his eyes. All this fear and uncertainty has finally fallen on him and he has started breaking down and he cannot afford that right now.

"Yes?"

"Can I- can you- just," Harry stutters. "Can you just hold me?"

"Of course," Zayn says, effectively holding Harry tighter. "What is going on, love? Are you alright?"

Zayn must feel the tears on his naked chest by now and if not, he can't miss the sobs wracking through Harry's chest.

"Baby, please talk to me," Zayn pleads. "What is it?"

"I think," Harry breathes out. "I think your Mother is going to kill me."

"No," Zayn gasps, stroking Harry's back. "She will not. I will not let her, Harry."

"You cannot protect me from her," Harry looks at Zayn, seeing the worried look on his husband's face. "She will definitely try to poison me. Or she will not ever bother and send an assassin. She can have my throat slain while we lay in the same bed and you will not even notice."

"Harry, love, trust me, please," Zayn says, pushing Harry's hair out of his face and then holding his cheek. "She will not try to hurt you because she knows I would never forgive her and I would force her to leave court. Yes, she hates you right now because she is used to being the person closest to me. She still thinks I am a child and that she can control me and now she has to come to terms with not having that power anymore. But I know my mother and I assure you that she will not hurt me. She is not stupid and she knows that if anything happens to you thanks to her, she will lose everything and she is not willing to let herself lose the things that matter the most to her because of you."

Harry hides his face in the crook between Zayn's neck and shoulder, sobbing again. The eyeopening reality of coming to court with the history of being the "traitor" and not having a single ally except for his husband in this place is more cruel than he expected. He doesn't want to be hated just for his family and his name. None of it is his fault and now his life is constantly at a risk just because of it. It isn't fair.

"I just," Harry sighs. "I just need to cry it out, I think. All of this... stress and worry that has accumulated over the past week has settled now. And I am alone here. If it were not for you, I would not have a single soul that did not hate me in this place. It is just hard to accept, I guess."

"They will grow to love you, Harry," Zayn says, caressing Harry's back. "Just like I did. You are the best person I know and they will see you kindness and your intelligence soon. And the people will love you as their King too, my love. Let all those heavy negative thoughts out, I am here for you. But please, it hurts me to see you like this because you should not have to feel like this. You do not deserve it."

"Can some of my allies and family come here?" Harry asks warily.

"Of course," Zayn answers easily. "I want to you to feel at home here. It is your home too, never think it is not. Whoever you want here, just ask them to come and they are welcome. Even if our Mothers might fight, they will get over it eventually."

Harry breathes in deeply, letting out the breath and trying to exhale the worry. He closes his eyes again, letting himself finally rest. He needs to make himself believe that he is safe, here wrapped in his husband's arms in their bed. No one can hurt him. And if someone tries, they will fucking hang for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) Feedback is very much appreciated :)


	18. Tiff

_May 1485, Windsor Castle_

Their meeting with the Regent, Melisende and the Privy Council got scheduled for quite early in the morning. The court is up and running at around seven in the morning and the squire sent to wake Harry and Zayn up announced that the meeting will start at 8AM sharp, which Zayn told Harry is quite unusual for the royal court. These kind of matters are normally discussed after lunch, unless there are some serious matters. Well, Melisende most likely believes this is one of those instances.

Breakfast is a quick affair for them because even if the situation isn't ideal, they chose to spend some time just ignoring the reality and lay together in bed while the morning sun shone on their bed.

The first night in Windsor Castle was... alright. Harry fell asleep shortly after breaking down last night, falling into a dreamless deep sleep, thankfully. His eyes were heavy from the crying even when he woke up when the sun was rising. Zayn was still asleep so Harry just watched him, so peaceful and calm, looking untouched by the war. He didn't look like a King who just fought in a war, he looked like the young man he is, free and happy. But unfortunately that is just a part of who he is.

The meeting is held in a large hall, one where the Privy Council usually meets. Harry and Zayn are the last to arrive, seeing as there are only two chairs left empty. Harry doesn't know these people by their face but he knows he can expect the Duke of Somerset here, Lord Audley and Duke of Exeter. A lot of important men of England that weren't with Lord Wawrick are sitting in this room right now.

Melisende is sitting at the head of the table with John on her right. The other side of the table is empty and Harry assumes this is how the meetings always went for Zayn - facing his Mother from across the table. And now, Zayn sits there once again, only this time Harry is right by his right hand. He isn't facing Melisende alone and he will never have to again.

"May we begin?" Melisende asks coldly. "Now that our Princes have finally gotten their arses out of bed. You are not on a honeymoon and if you want to rule a kingdom, act accordingly."

"We are right on time, Mother," Zayn matches her coldness. "I would appreciate if we got to matters that are actually important."

Melisende hums. "I wish to see your marriage certificate first."

Harry nearly sighs but he just looks at Zayn and subtly rolls his eyes while taking out said certificate out of his inner pocket. While waging a staring war with Melisende, Harry hands the certificate to a page to bring it to her. When she gets it, she unrolls the scroll, reading carefully, even going as far as touching the seal that the Abbot put at the end of it. Harry expects her to rip it but he wouldn't bat an eye because there is a copy of it hidden in their chambers. They knew that their marriage would be doubted wherever they look so the least they could do was ask Abbot Dominic for two marriage certificates in case one of them got destroyed.

To Harry's, and probably everyone else' surprise, Melisende doesn't rip the document. She merely sets it down on the wooden table and glares at Harry again.

"So you are married," she drawls. "Do you have witnesses of your consummation?"

Harry desperately wants to ask her is she needs them to fuck right on this table to believe them, but he quite likes having his head on his neck so he decides against it.

Instead, Harry smiles sweetly at her. "Of course, Your Grace."

Melisende sighs, rubbing her fingers over her forehead. "Bring the document."

The page takes a long scroll along with a quill and ink from a desk in one of the room's corners, presenting it to John at first. He just signs it without looking at it. After that, the page promptly picks everything up and sets the things in front of Harry and Zayn. Harry is stunned to see that they are both being declared Kings now. Along with the mention of their marriage, the document states that Harry is the 4th in line and he has his own claim too. Even with that in place, it is clearly says he is King now because of the marriage. It is also said there that with their signatures, an unconditional peace is in place and whoever dares break it, will be declared a usurper and will meet the worse fate a traitor can meet. How this document got through Melisende, is beyond Harry but he is immensely grateful this is happening and that the peace if not just a dream anymore.

Harry's hand is shaking as he takes the quill from Zayn but he is overjoyed. Zayn must notice the tremble because he puts his hand on Harry's knee under the table, calming Harry at least a bit. With just three simple signatures, the war is over. After 32 years, England is peaceful again. They are Kings and they will give their lives to preserve the truce and unity. They will start a new dynasty of rules, those who will promote peace and not futile wars and violence.

The document is then sealed with the royal signet. No one can doubt it now.

Melisende looks sour but she has not ended her fight yet. Everyone in the rooms knows she is just preparing for all of her plots and intrigue.

"You are King now, my dear son," Melisende says, her voice dripping with poison. "I would never keep this from you. Mais vous avez terni ce jour pour moi. J'attendais cela depuis le moment où je vous ai tenu pour la première fois dans mes bras. Maintenant, vous partagez votre trône avec un traître."

_'But you tarnished this day for me. I have waited for this since the moment I first held you in my arms. Now you are sharing your throne with a traitor.'_

Melisende must know that Harry and the majority of the people in this room can speak French. 

"Mère, mon mari n'est pas un traître," Zayn says. "Je l'aime et il régnera à mes côtés jusqu'au jour de notre mort. Nos enfants vont régner après nous et vous ne pouvez rien y faire."

_'Mother, my husband is no traitor. I love him and he will rule by me side until the day we die. Our children will rule after us and there is nothing you can do about it.'_

One Lord near them whispers "Here we go again with their French fights." to the man next to him. They both sigh and shake their heads, leaning in their seats to be mum spectators to this showdown.

"Il va régner parce que vous êtes aveuglé par l'amour. Tu ne peux pas voir?" Melisende asks, gesturing with her hand. "Sa mère savait qu'ils ne gagneraient pas la guerre, alors elle l'envoya chercher le trône en ouvrant les jambes."

_'He will rule because you are blinded by love. Can you not see? His mother knew that they would not win the war so she sent him off to get the throne by opening his legs.'_

Melisende truly has no other insults to Harry, only that he is a whore and he is tricking Zayn by sleeping with him. And this is support to hurt him? These words are a mere joke to Harry at this point.

Zayn is visibly angry now. "Vous êtes si proche d'esprit. Harry ne se souciait pas de la guerre ni du trône. Il se soucie de la paix, tout comme moi. Même si je n'étais pas tombé amoureux de lui, je l'aurais épousé pour faire sortir des maisons ensemble et mettre un terme à la guerre. Pourquoi ne pouvez-vous pas accepter cela? Nous avons de la chance d'avoir des enfants ensemble et d'effacer le fardeau d'une autre guerre civile sur plusieurs générations."

_'You are so close minded. Harry did not care about the war nor did he care about the throne. He cares about peace, as do I. Even if I had not fallen in love with him, I would have married him to bring out houses together and stop the war. Why can you not accept this? We are lucky we can have children together and erase the threat of another civil war for generations.'_

Melisende scoffs. "Vous aviez deux options: le tuer ou avoir des enfants avec lui. Et vous avez choisi le seconde? Je ne vous ai pas élevé pour être aussi faible. Il utilisera cela contre vous. Il pourrait même aller dans votre dos et ramener un bâtard à la maison. Vous ne remarquerez même pas parce que vos yeux sont fermés."

_'You had two options: kill him or have children with him. And you chose the second one? I did not raise you to be this weak. He will use this against you. He might even go behind your back and bring a bastard home. You will not even notice because your eyes are shut.'_

"Please," Harry interrupts. "We are at an English court and all in attendance but you are English. I kindly ask you to speak the language too, Your Grace."

He has grown tired of these cheap insults against him. Melisende might be powerful but if Harry was a cruel person, he would have her arrested right now because she is essentially suggesting that Harry, her King, is treasonous and that itself is treason. But Harry would not do it, because he is not someone like that and he also knows she would get out of prison and then murder him.

Melisende looks at Harry, smirking cruelly. "Oh? La pute ne parle pas français? Juliana vous a seulement appris à devenir un tueur aveugle et une putain, mais elle ne vous a rien appris d’important."

_'Oh? The whore does not speak French? Juliana only taught you how to be a mindless killer and a whore but she did not teach you anything important.'  
_

Harry can't help but chuckle. "Non, j'ai parfaitement compris chaque mot. Chaque insulte aussi. Je parle couramment trois langues, juste pour votre information. I just thought it was rude to speak a foreign language when not everyone in attendance understands everything. And I would also appreciate if you stopped calling your King and your son's husband a whore in front of the Privy Council."

_'No, I understood every word perfectly. Every single insult too. I am fluent in three languages, just for your information.'_

Melisende goes white in the face. She underestimated him and Harry hopes she did it for the first and last time. He is so different from her biased ideas of him. She knows Harry as the cruel son of her greatest enemy and now he apparently is a whore who stole her son from her. But those perceptions are false and could not be further away from the truth.

"You are quite brave, talking to me like that, boy," Melisende breathes out after shaking off the shock. "Watch your mouth the next time."

"I am not a boy, I am your King," Harry says in spite of the fear kindling inside.

Melisende scoffs. "You are King just because you married my son. Therefore your only duty as a King is to bear children. I am very well aware of what you two got up to in York. Are you with a child yet?"

Harry goes red in the face. Calling him a whore is one thing but diminishing him like this in front of some of the most powerful people in the kingdom is embarrassing. A man who can bear children and is a ruler is still quite controversial. Melisende is trying to undermine him moments after he and Zayn became Kings.

"Mother!" Zayn protests. "Stop this."

"No, I am not," Harry stumbles over his words. "I am not a vessel that will give your son children. I am a person of my own and I will provide heirs when they are needed. We are just eighteen, there is plenty of time for me to bear children. The country needs to be stabilised first, then we can talk about children. We might need to fight before the kingdom has settled down after the war and I cannot do that while carrying a child or taking care of an infant. I am here to rule with my husband, I am here to fight by his side if needed. No matter what you say, my role as a King is not to only bear children and sit on my arse in a castle, quiet like a mouse."

"I do not think so," Melisende smirks. "If you two want my support, you will provide an heir within the year. Your marriage is worthless without an heir. I can make sure it will cease to exist if you will not fulfil your duties."

"We do not need your support, Mother," Zayn says. "You do not rule over England anymore."

"No?" Melisende arches her brow. "You do not need the support of the Lords and Ladies of England? Because I can make sure you do not have it."

Melisende looks at Harry again. "So, my dear son-in-law, I expect to see a grandchild quite soon. Grandson, preferably. Now you can deal with all that bureaucracy with John here. I do not have time to deal with all of that bollocks. Goodbye." She retreats outside, leaving the room stunned.

Harry feels like the world around him is falling apart. He vaguely feels Zayn touching his hand but his mind cannot process anything other than what Melisende just said. This cannot be true. He will not go through with this. He won't be a fucking walking vessel for children. Never.

"Baby, are you alright?" Zayn whispers to him, the words lost between all the Lords discussing all kinds of different matters between each other.

Harry finally looks at his husband again, finding some solace in the familiarity of his face. "Yes. But I will not listen to your Mother. No matter how she threatens us, I will not have children right now. There will be rebellions, I am certain Lord Wawrick will make sure that the beginning of our reign is not smooth and peaceful. We need to face it together, otherwise we will fall down like a dead bird. Our reign cannot survive if we are not united and fighting together."

"I know," Zayn nods, kissing the back of Harry's hand. "My Mother will realise it sooner than later. No one can make you do anything anymore, my love. We are free."

"We are," Harry agrees, swallowing around nothing. "We need to arrange for my Mother and other people from the Wawrick Castle to join court."

"Oh yes, we do," Zayn smiles. "And we also have a coronation to plan."

"That we do," Harry nods. "And assemble a new Privy Council, but we will do that after everyone else arrives and after our coronation."

"Let us get started then," Zayn says. "It is quite a lot of work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading :) Let me know your thoughts :) And please, if you are reading the updates here, let me know because you can't vote for every chapter like on Wattpad so I truly have no way of knowing :/


	19. Ruby

_June 1485, Windsor Castle_

After a little over three weeks, Harry is still alive and well. In spite of Melisende's rage and clear dislike of him, she has not tried to poison him or send and assassin. She has shown her discontent with Harry and Zayn's marriage during each meeting she has attented and basically every single time Harry has crossed her path. But seeing how she is still not trying to murder her son-in-law, Harry chooses to believe that she will get over it, like Zayn said she will. He knows her after all.

This time has certainly been the busiest of Harry's life. He and Zayn attend various meetings every single day, on top of some lessons with the best scholars in England who teach them about the current political situation. There are briefings about how other monarch are reacting to their marriage and the end of war, plans being made to visit some of them and to also tour England and meet the people and lords.

From the very first moment they took up the duties of the rulers of England, they have been preaching equality. Despite Melisende's insults, Harry is not just a husband for Zayn, he is a King too. Because they are the first royal couple consisting of two men, they will have new crown and crown jewels to mark a new era for rulers and for England. They are determined to modernise the country, bring new philosophy and culture into the kingdom.

During a Privy Council meeting about a week ago, Harry nearly risked his life by saying in front of Melisende that they will not have heirs until they are both at least twenty years of age. Firstly, they will focus on travelling and gaining new allies for England. Melisende just scoffed and said: "Have it your way then. When you die without an heir, England will be in chaos and it will all be your fault." It was on exaggeration of course, because they are very well aware of their duty as monarchs to keep their line going. Harry said as much to Melisende then, and also adding that one absent King would not help the process of stabilising the country in the slightest.

They also sent an envoy with an official invitation to court and a letter from Harry addressed to his Mother. He lowkey hopes that Lord Wawrick won't come too but since he preyed on Juliana and married her just weeks after Harry's Father was killed in battle, he will never leave her side. Harry is certain that he will try to secure a spot on the Privy Council but that will happen only over Harry's dead body. He has opened his eyes and seen how stupid Lord Wawrick's plans actually are. But there are some other people Harry will _need_ on the Privy Council.

Harry's sitting at a desk in the study in his and Zayn's chambers. Finally having moved to the King's chambers, they have more quite a lot of space and from time to time, Harry likes the security of the rooms. In the middle of the day, like now, no one would expect a King to be in his study, quietly writing down a list of potential candidates for Privy Council. Zayn is attending some sort of a meeting, one that Harry didn't deem important enough for the presence of them both and decided to do something productive instead.

The main door to the sitting room opens and shuts then, and Harry thinks it's just a servant until a familiar voice calls out: "Love?"

"In the study," Harry calls out, his eyes still down on the paper. He finishes the last word, putting his quill back in the ink. Looking up just as Zayn walks into the room, Harry smiles at him and gestures for him to come over.

"How was the meeting?" Harry asks as he starts writing again. Zayn comes to stand behind his chair, wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders and kissing his temple.

"It was alright," Zayn mumbles into Harry's hair. "Duke of Somerset was throwing nasty looks at me the whole time."

"Why?" Harry snorts. "What did you do him?"

"Nothing," Zayn sighs. "His daughter arrived at court today and before we got married, he wanted me to marry his daughter and since no one knew about our engagement, I had to lie and say that he should bring her to court so I can meet her. Now he is bitter because his daughter will not be a Queen."

Harry chuckles. "That is quite funny. Anyways, have we got anything else to do today?"

Zayn hums, kissing the side of Harry's face again. "No, I do not think so. Just dinner in the Great Hall like usual."

"Do you want to go riding?" Harry asks. "The weather is lovely and we have not been this week yet."

"Why not?" Zayn says. "But first, I have something for you."

Before Harry can inquire what it is, Zayn is reaching from behind him and putting a ring on his left ring finger, joining his wedding ring. It's a gold ring, not quite chunky yet not thin either, with gold ornaments lining the sides, meeting around the big rectangular ruby in the centre. Harry's breath gets knocked out of him for a moment, realising that this is the heirloom Zayn mentioned.

"I finally had the chance to get the ring from the royal treasury for you," Zayn says. "It has been remade a few times but the ruby has been in the family for generations. I wanted you to have it because it is a part of my history and it will join us on our journey of starting a new house and a new dynasty of rulers. Sentiment, I guess. And you deserve a proper engagement ring. Better late than never."

"I love it," Harry breathes out. He stands up from the desk clumsily, almost knocking the ink and the chair over, before grabbing Zayn's face and pulling him in for a kiss. It turns heated quickly, Harry's arse hitting the edge of the desk as they kiss passionately, their tongues engaged in constant movement. Harry blindly pushes all the things behind him away, hopping up on the desk and pulling Zayn in between his legs without breaking the kiss. His fingers are in Zayn's hair, tugging occasionally to bring his closer, even though they are chest to chest.

"Would it be strange to fuck in the middle of the day?" Harry gasps out after pulling back, his lungs screaming for air and his voice already ruined from kissing.

"No," Zayn shakes his head, his breathing heavy. "I want to see you. Your beauty is not very well illuminated by candlelight. We have not made love during the day in quite some time."

"Can you eat me out?" Harry breathes out between kisses. Zayn moves his lips down to Harry's neck, leaving a slick trail of spit behind.

"Did you bathe?" he asks and begins sucking on the skin, peppering it with little bites that will surely form a love bite soon.

"Of course," Harry says. "I would not ask you otherwise, I am not a peasant."

"You are not, baby," Zayn says before kissing him shortly. "Lay down, love."

Harry listens and lays down on the table. Zayn gets down promptly, pulling Harry's hips so his arse his hanging off the table. He quickly gets the lower half of Harry's body undressed, giving Harry's hard cock a few tugs before putting his lips on Harry's arse with no preamble. Harry moans, putting his own hand on his cock for some friction. He can't even think in the moment, the pleasure just building up more and more as Zayn gets him more open. The gasps Harry lets out when Zayn gets a finger in along with his tongue can probably be heard down to the Great Hall but Harry doesn't fucking care. If anyone dares to judge him, they would rethink their choice to do so after knowing how fucking good Zayn is at eating out.

The room is silence except for the slick sounds and Harry's moaning. The walls aren't thin but the doors are and anyone passing by must hear them if they pay a little attention to the sounds around them. Harry can feel the orgasm building down in his belly, the sweet tingling and pressure slowly coming in. He tries to jerk himself faster but he is stopped by a slap on his hand. Zayn's fingers are removed from him then, and his mouth too after Zayn leaves a bite on his asscheek.

"Why didn't you let me come?" Harry gasps when Zayn stands up again.

Zayn wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. "I want to fuck you."

Harry scoffs. "I could easily come twice, arsehole."

"Call me arsehole one more time and I will not fuck you."

Harry sits up, pulling Zayn close to himself. "You are my _husband,_ it is your duty to fuck me, love."

"Is that so?" Zayn challenges.

"Yes," Harry smirks and kisses his jaw. "Now, there is a bed waiting for us."

Without any more words, Harry wraps his legs around Zayn's waist, suggesting that he should carry him there. He gets the memo and picks Harry up from the desk, walking through the sitting room to their bedroom while they kiss. Harry gets lightly lain on the bed, the kiss barely breaking.

This is what Harry loves about being with a man - they are equal. He can get fucked but he can also fuck. There isn't one of them who is weaker in physical strength and if Harry wanted to, he could easily throw Zayn over his shoulder and carry him too. It's the comfort of it, of sharing such a vulnerable part of yourself with someone who has the same body as you.

"I want to take you from behind, babe," Zayn says, already unlacing Harry's top shirt. He takes the rest of Harry's clothes off, leaving Harry completely naked on the bed.

"Alright," Harry breathes out. "But you need to undress first."

Zayn complies with a smirk, slowly taking off his clothes, putting on a little show for Harry. And truth be told, Harry enjoys every second of it. From Zayn's broad shoulders, his flat defined stomach, down to his thick cock, Harry loves the sight. Sometimes he can't believe he got to marry a man so beautiful. Everyone notices Zayn's face, his bright eyes lined with freakishly long eyelashes, his sharp jaw and cheekbones and his brilliant smile but not many have got to see him like Harry does. He is certain that he falls in love with Zayn more and more every single day of their lives and Harry is extremely grateful that Zayn loves him too. A marriage out of love for a royal is a children's tale and yet, Harry got it and his Prince is the most beautiful man that has ever walked the Earth.

When Zayn is fully naked, Harry rolls over to be on his belly right away. He arches his back, his arse in the air, just waiting for Zayn to finally fuck him. Just moments later, he feels Zayn grab his hips, bringing his hips to Harry's arse so Harry can feel his hard cock between his cheeks.

"Just fuck me," Harry moans, pushing his hips back.

"Eager, huh?" Zayn chuckles and Harry doesn't have to wait long until he has a cock at his entrance.

Zayn starts fucking him, hard and deep without a warning. Harry loves the little remnant of pain, overcame by blinding fucking pleasure. He can't hold back but moan loudly, gasp with each new thrust. With one especially deep thrust, Harry shouts out. After that, he can't keep quiet. Yelling Zayn's name and curses, Harry doesn't care that it's the middle of the day and anyone could hear them, not when he is being fucked so good. They don't fuck like this often, usually opting for making love while kissing and being slow with it, appreciating each other's bodies and relishing in the touch.

This though, this is hard fucking. It's fast, relentless and it's so fucking good because they know one another's boundaries. They don't have to hold back. Considering how short their marriage and relationship as a whole has been so far, they have discovered most of their kinks and boundaries.

A sudden slap on Harry's arse gets a yelp out of him. Another one follows it rapidly, and another one after that. Each one gets noises out of Harry that can probably be heard on the other side of the castle.

"You like that, huh baby?" Zayn asks, giving Harry's arse another slap before kissing his shoulder and caressing the reddened cheek. "Want me to go harder?"

"Yes," Harry gasps, his voice thick with desire. "Harder, please."

He cries out louder than ever before when a slap is met with a deep thrust. Harry nearly comes on the spot, his eyes getting moist with tears.

Out of a sudden, there is a knock on the door.

They both still, the sound of their bodies meeting together replaced just by their laboured breathing. Oh, this is fucking great. Just when Zayn is balls deep in Harry, someone decides to knock on their door.

"Your Grace, is everything alright?" Harry recognises the voice as one of their guards. He breathes out, dropping down to hide his face in the pillow underneath.

"Yes, we are alright," Zayn calls back. "Nothing to worry about."

"Very good, Your Grace."

Harry starts laughing into the pillow and he is soon joined by Zayn, who collapses down on Harry's back, his cock still inside as they laugh over it.

"Oh dear Lord," Harry laughs. "I am glad that was our guard and not your Mother."

"Please, do not even talk about that because I would literally die if that happened," Zayn chuckles.

"Cover my mouth," Harry says. "I cannot hold back when you are fucking me like that."

"Alright," Zayn says. "You ready?"

"Just get on with it," Harry sighs. "I want to come already."

The thrusts start slowly at first, but Zayn quickly works up the tempo from before. His right hand is now covering Harry's mouth, keeping in all the moans and shouts. Harry finds it hot, that the only thing keeping him from completely letting go is just Zayn's hand. The quick, hard thrusts are fast at bringing the buildup of orgasm again and Harry just wants to let go and come. He crawls at Zayn's forearm, holding it as Zayn keeps him hand firmly on Harry's mouth.

It's probably the best orgasm of Harry's life. As he comes, it shakes his body so violently his wrists give out and he falls down do his elbows, his muscles weak with the force. Zayn follows him a few moments later, fucking him through the orgasm and then letting go of his mouth so he can jerk off the rest of the way until he comes on Harry's lower back. Then they just fall down into the mattress, panting and sweaty and covering in come.

After he gains some mobility in his limbs again, Harry rolls over and drapes himself over Zayn.

"I love you so much," Harry says, kissing Zayn's chest. "That was the best orgasm of my life."

"Mine too," Zayn says with a sleepy smile. "I love you more than anything."

"Should we nap before dinner?" Harry asks, the yawn after it being an answer itself.

"It is a good idea, love," Zayn smiles before kissing Harry's forehead.

They fall asleep like that, even though the sun is shining on them. Exhaustion after fucking is the best kind. Especially when you get to nap afterwards with the person who is an island of comfort and love for you.

xxx

Harry gets woken up by knocking on the door. He stirs up, burying his face in Zayn's chest because the last thing he wants to do is leave this bed and face the court again. Being a stranger, a traitor to some, is not easy. When he is alone with just Zayn, he feels nothing but loved and appreciated. There is no prejudice and no hate, like it is with almost every other resident of the castle. He wants to keep this moment alive for a little longer.

But the knocking gets relentless.

"King Harry, your Mother has arrived and she requires your presence now."

With those words, Harry shoots up in bet, sitting up so fast his vision goes blank.

"What? How?" Harry asks frantically. He is so confused, when did she get here? Who else has come with her? Why did she not come to his chambers herself?

"She has arrived earlier this afternoon but she wants to speak with you just now."

Zayn finally wakes up, looking up at Harry through one squinted eye. "What is going on?"

"My Mother is at court," Harry says as he gets up, trying to collect his clothes because he does not have the time to get new ones. He puts on everything quicker than ever before in his life and even though the clothes are probably backwards, at least he is not naked.

He quickly kisses half-asleep Zayn as he's leaving, opening the door to see a guard standing there.

"Where is she?" Harry asks.

"Follow me, Your Grace," the guard says and starts walking right away. Harry follows him, fiddling with his clothes to make it look like at least a little bit like he didn't just get his wits fucked out of him and then slept for a few hours.

The guard leads Harry to guest chambers in the same wing of the castle as his and Zayn's chambers are located. The guard knocks, before Harry can hear his Mother say "Come in."

What waits for him inside quite frankly makes Harry feel like he has just entered a different universe.

There is his mother, seated on a sofa with a teacup in her hand. But opposite her sits Melisende, not sipping tea but sitting straight, poised almost like a cat ready to fight.

When Juliana spots Harry in the doorway, her face softens and she immediately stands up, abandoning the tea on a low table. She quickly comes to Harry, enveloping him in a hug.

"Oh, my dear son," she sighs, kissing Harry's cheeks. "Finally, I can see your face again. I was worried sick about you when you left the battle. Why did you not confide in me, son?"

Harry shakes his head to try and get rid of the shock before hugging his Mother back. He is so glad to see her again, a familiar face, someone who loves him and is at his side. Even with all her flaws, Harry loves Juliana and missed her so much. He feels a bit sorry that she was not present at his wedding because he is her only child after all. But it had to be done the way it was. There was no other option.

"I did not know how you would react, Mother," Harry says honestly. "I was worried. But I am fine. I am happier than ever before, trust me. And I missed you. How was your journey?"

Juliana pulls back and scoffs. "My journey. Tell me about your wedding, child! You are a King now, you have a husband. My little boy has grown up and I was not there to see it, tell me about it at least. Oh, and Melisende."

Juliana turns around, grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him into the room. She's looking at Melisende, who does not appear to be pleased by Harry's arrival. God knows what the two of them were talking about but it couldn't have been anything good.

"Leave me alone with my son, will you?" Juliana smiles sweetly at Melisende. "And do not call him a whore ever again. Thank you for talking to me."

Melisende stands up, holding her chin up proudly. "Do not make me regret giving you the time of my day."

She leaves, the guard closing the door behind her, leaving Harry and Melisende alone in the room.

"Sit, Harry," Juliana smiles. "Do you want tea?"

"No," Harry shakes his head as he sits down. "What did you and Melisende talk about?"

"About how you and your husband have been handling your first weeks of being Kings," Juliana waves her hand. "I got some gossip in a letter from a Lady whose husband is on the Privy Council. So I wanted to meet Melisende. And I am so glad you asked me to come. I want to be here for you."

"Thank you, Mother," Harry smiles somberly. "Is Lord Wawrick with you?"

"No," she shakes her head. "He will arrive later, though. He has some business to attend to first. Oh, I want to meet your husband later tonight. We can meet in my rooms again and you will both tell me all about your wedding and what you are planning for the coronation. But firstly, Melisende told me that you do not want to provide an heir. How is that?"

Harry takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to rub his temples. "I want to provide an heir, just not right now. There are more important matters I have to take care of than a child."

"Oh, Harry," Juliana sighs. "I talked to Priest Bedwyr before I left and all the elements are in your favour. He has seen wonderful fertility for you. It is not common, especially not so soon after a wedding. You should grasp that chance."

Harry's blood stills. Not Bedwyr. Good fucking Lord, anything but Bedwyr.

"Mother, I do not believe in what Bedwyr preaches," Harry says carefully. "And... are you not mad at me for abandoning the battle and getting married behind your back?"

"Oh, no," Juliana chuckles. She grabs both of Harry's hands in hers and looks him straight into the eyes, green meeting green. They have the same eyes but people don't usually see the resemblance because of Juliana's blonde hair. "That was Nathaniel's goal, not mine. I went along with it because it was also what your Father wanted. I thought that if you killed Zayn the throne would go to you but I was wrong and Priest Bedwyr opened my eyes. But I felt like my voice was not heard in Wawrick."

Harry always gets chills when he hears his Mother call Lord Wawrick by his first name. It makes him human but Harry knows he is a nasty snake with no emotions and nearly zero brains.

"Why did you keep it from me, Mother?" Harry inquires. Despite the realisation coming from Bedwyr's talons, Harry would have welcomed someone else believing in peace. Other than himself and Helen of course.

"It is history now, my child," Juliana smiles. "But future is upon us. Priest Bedwyr has seen a son in your life very soon. Maybe even this year. How wonderful is that?"

"I cannot have a child this year," Harry protests. "There is no child to be born by the time the year ends."

"Sweetheart," Juliana says seriously. "Even without Priest Bedwyr's words, I recommend you that you have a baby as soon as possible. If you have a son, you will not have to have any more children and then you can just reign freely, without the pressure of providing an heir. Best you get it out of the way soon. By the time your twenty-five, you will even forget you had a baby at eighteen. Trust me, it is the smartest choice."

"Mother...," Harry sighs again.

"No," Juliana intercepts. "You will see it for yourself. Priest Bedwyr recommened me a Priest in the town and we will go see him together. It must be your decision."

Harry doesn't protest this time. He knows it's useless when his Mother gets like this. Atop of everything, he will need to deal with his Mother's paganism. Harry just hopes Melisende won't catch a whiff of it and proclaim them both witches, even though Harry has been a Catholic his whole life. Juliana got into this "religion" only after Harry's Father had died. Harry doesn't know what's worse, the paganism or her marriage to Lord Wawrick.

Harry definitely needs to pay a visit to the chapel soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) you can talk to me here or on tumblr @harryssecondguccisuit :) all feedback is very much encouraged and appreciated :)


	20. The Wrong Path

_June 1485, Windsor Castle_

Juliana's arrival stirred up more bad than good. To an extent, Harry did truly miss his Mother but he has no clue that she was so deep inside of her delusions. At least she didn't bring Lord Wawrick along with her because Harry wouldn't have been able to get through all that. Now atop of all his worries about the nobles hating him, there's Juliana, practicing a pagan religion on the royal court. It's so fucked up Harry has no clue what to do.

At least she doesn't mind his marriage. When she arrived a few days ago, Harry and Zayn met with her after dinner and she behaved amazingly. Zayn liked her immediately and Harry could only force out a smile because what is he supposed to do? Tell him that his Mother is well on her way to becoming insane? He can't do that.

All Harry can do now to keep his imagine spotless, is pray in the chapel every single day. He needs to show that he is a good Catholic and not a pagan like his Mother. Not many people know so far because Juliana attended the Sunday mass but it's just a matter of time until they all find out. And what are they going to do when they hear of it? Accuse Harry of being a heretic.

He prays every single day for at least half an hour. He kneels right in the first pew, just like he is now, reciting all the prayers he knows. In a sense, he hopes all this worshipping will actually help him and he's not just doing it in vain to keep up the appearance. It's the least he can do. Besides, the time Harry spends here alone away from all his duties and the questioning eyes of courtiers is relaxing in a way. No one interrupts him and he can put his thoughts in order in peace.

"Never pegged you to be a someone who prays like a fool all day, Your Grace."

The voice makes Harry abandon his prayers and look behind him right away. He finds Helen standing in the middle of the chapel, smirking like there was nothing going on.

"Helen," Harry breathes out, standing out and walking to her right away. "You are finally here. I feared you would not come since you did not arrive with my Mother."

"Of course, I would come," Helen smiles, wrapping Harry in a hug. "I would not let you be alone here with all these nasty people. Court can be vicious. I knew I had to come."

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," Harry sighs after pulling away from Helen. Their hands stay interlocked between them. "I am so lonely here. If it was not for Zayn, I would not have a soul to speak to. Well, now my Mother is here but she is not alright. All she talks about is Bedwyr and his insane drivel. I do not know what happened with her, she had not been this bad before I left."

"I am so sorry, Harry," Helen says. "But I need to tell you something before Melisende can use this against me."

Harry stills, pulling his hands away from Helen's grasp. This cannot be anything good. If Melisende can use it to tarnish Helen's name or use it, to break Harry's trust in Helen, whatever it is, it's dismal.

"What is it?" Harry asks cautiously.

Helen takes a deep breath, visibly distressed. "I was spying for her."

The world around halts. Harry blinks slowly, his vision nearly going black. Spying. Helen was spying for _Melisende._ This cannot be real. No, just... Harry must be asleep and this is just a nasty nightmare.

Helen says his name then and tragically, Harry isn't dreaming.

"How could you?" are the first words Harry musters up. "How could you pretend to be my ally when you were spying for a woman that wants me dead?"

"Harry, please hear me out," Helen begs. "It was not the way you think."

"Not the way I think?" Harry scorns. "You were a spy for Melisende. How else am I supposed to interpret it?"

"I only ever told her what was convenient for you," Helen says. "I told her about the marriage idea. If she had not told Zayn, you two might not have been married right now. I never revealed actual plans and even if I did, it was only when I knew Lord Wawrick's stupidity would hurt you so I told Melisende and she intercepted."

"Helen, you are a traitor," Harry says, his voice tight. "How am I ever supposed to trust you again?"

"You need to trust me," Helen insists. "After your Mother got married, I went to the royal court because I was heartbroken and my Father believed your family would never win the war. I befriended Melisende. She was miserable here in England and had no friends at all. I spent a few years in France when I was a young girl so we had some things in common. When you and Zayn were about five, Melisende took the reins and she was the mind behind the war. That is when she suggested I went back to Wawrick. I had Juliana's trust and Lord Wawrick was foolish enough to believe that I had a change of heart and was fully on your side. I did not agree to this at first but then I realised, I could help you boys. I saw that Juliana has strayed to the wrong path, she was misguided. This way I would know what both sides were planning and therefore, I could protect you. There were assassination attempts I have talked both sides out of, amongst other things. All I ever did was help both of you, Harry. You need to believe me."

"I just," Harry exhales. "You kept such an important thing from me. I do not trust Melisende in the slightest, how can I trust you when you are her friend, or whatever you are?"

"I could not tell you, Harry. Don't you understand?" Helen pleads. "If I told you that when we first spoke about you and Zayn, you would neither trust me nor him. I understand how you feel now, but please, keep in mind that I have only tried to protest you _both_."

"I need to let this information sit in my mind for a bit," Harry says, his eyes avoiding Helen. "I will send someone for you when I am ready to talk to you again."

Harry pushes past Helen, their shoulders brushing as Harry strides out of the chapel as fast as his legs allow him. He wants to cry, he honestly wants to cry because he is so fucking lonely. There is no one he can trust. What if all this has been an elaborate plot and Zayn doesn't actually loving, he's just following his Mother's orders?

But he cannot think like this. There is not a single instance that could undermine the trust Harry has in Zayn. Their first few weeks in York, the danger they have faced, Melisende's behaviour. Harry wants to think that Helen is telling the truth but he is swamped with thoughts and speculation. He cannot go on like this for much longer because it will drive him insane.

Now Harry has to face another challenge - visiting a pagan priest with his Mother. He only hopes that this won't get him burned at the stake.

xxx

The meeting with the priest went just about as well as Harry expected. Harry hid beneath a cape with a hood. He and Juliana rode their horses to the forest nearby the castle because to Harry's delight, the priest doesn't live in the town but instead he lives in a cabin in the woods. Sounds like a place one would get murdered in so Harry didn't forget to arm himself with a sword and three daggers, just in case.

Priest Silvan is a middle-aged man with long brown hair and a long matching beard. Honestly, he reminded Harry of Bedwyr but it might be some kind of a fashion with pagan priests.

He invited them inside, the cabin being just one simple room packed full of things. One entire wall had cabinets and dressers with his "magical" supplies and what not. They got seated at a round table and the nonsense began.

Juliana seemed to be glowing while Harry literally wanted to take out one of those daggers and slit his own throat instead of listen how Silvan can see the future "oh so clearly" and Harry must have a son because if not, he will meet his worst fate. There are some herbs and "potions" involved but Harry touches none of it. Silvan tries to make him drink one that will help him with conceiving a son and it takes all of Harry's strength not to throw the cup into Silvan's face.

He leaves the cabin feeling creeped out, Juliana apologising to Silvan about Harry's behaviour, as if refusing to drink some weird shit to have a son is something that a person in their right mind wouldn't do.

"Harry, I am terribly disappointed in you," Juliana laments once they've mounted their horses and started to make their way back to civilization. "You embarrassed me! You are a King and yet you treated Priest Silvan with a tremendous disrespect. How could you?"

Never in his life before has Harry been this frustrated with his Mother. "Because I do not believe that some charlatan can see the future. What the fuck did he mean by all that shit? I will meet my worst fate if I do not have a son? What does it even mean? What is the worst fate? I am not going to make a fool of myself, Mother."

"You will not speak to me in such manner," Juliana warns. "I am your Mother. And I am trying to help you."

"How are you trying to help me?" Harry whimpers. He wants to cry, let himself break down and just be fucking sad for a day. "By trying to tarnish my already subpar reputation? I can be hanged for being a heretic!"

"Heretic?" Juliana gasps. "How is old religion heretic?"

"Mother," Harry sighs, stopping his horse and looking at Juliana. "This is not just pagan religion, this is a religious sect. If I associate with them, not even my kingship will help me. You should take your hands away from it too, because I will not be able to save you once Melisende catches a whiff of this and orders your execution. Please, at least consider my advice, if you care about me at all."

Neglecting to wait for Juliana's answer, Harry digs his heels into his horse and bolts away, leaving her behind in the forest. The warm summer air is hitting his face roughly, spreading the tears that appeared just seconds after Harry took off. His body is wrecked with anguish, with desolation and heartache. Believing his Mother would be an ally of his at court, the cruel reality of Juliana's behaviour is even more damaging. With Helen's confession, Harry truly feels like a stranger in his own home again.

Harry speeds for the castle, trying to get inside and hide from everyone for the rest of the day as soon as possible. When he finally reaches the stables, it's a relief he hasn't felt in quite some time. He simply wants to ignore all his duties for a bit, rest and get his thoughts together. As he walks inside a castle, a passes a Lady cradling a baby in her arms. She bows to him, saying, "Your Grace." The baby stares at Harry with wide blue eyes like it's never seen a person before.

All Harry feels is numbness. According to Silvan, he should be delighter about children and yet, he does not desire to have them in the slightest. How do they expect him to have a child when he feels like this? There is not an ounce of fondness toward children inside of him, not a sliver of inclination. It's just not the right time. But he might feel like this forever. Harry never thought he would marry a man and bear children, that just wasn't something in Lord Wawrick's plans. The situation has changed but Harry hasn't had a change of heart yet.

Perhaps rudely, Harry rushes past the woman to step inside the castle. The corridors have grown familiar to him, after a month of living there. This will be his home for the rest of his life, unless they decide to move the court to a different castle but there is not a reason to do it, at least not now. Harry reaches his and Zayn's chambers, seeing just one guard outside.

"My husband is not inside?" Harry asks the guard.

"No, Your Grace," the guard replies. "The King is in a meeting with Duke of Somerset and his bannermen in the west wing."

Harry curses under his breath. "Can you let him know to find me after the meeting is over? I shall be in the chapel or... somewhere around. Just tell him to find me, it is urgent."

"Of course, Your Grace," the guard says.

Harry considers going to his own chambers for a bit, before scraping the thought. Surely, he has them but he doesn't reside in them. Unlike other royal couples, he and Zayn chose to live in the same chambers and sleep in the same bed every night, not just when they are supposed to be conceiving an heir. Their marriage is one out of love and it would be foolish, spending the little free time they have apart.

His steps lead to the chapel again. It's the one place where he won't be disturbed by anyone wanting any kind of bullshit from him. This time, he sits down on a pew in the middle and lets the solitude envelop him. He cries, because what else is there to do?

Harry misses the times when his Mother wasn't like this. Back when Harry's Father was alive, Juliana was a wonderful woman. With smile always lighting up her face, everyone loved her and they vied for her attention. Harry had a relatively happy childhood considering it took place in the mids of a war and it was all thanks to Juliana. She spent time with him, didn't just ship him off to a castle in the country where he would study. His Father wasn't completely distant too. Had it not been for his hunger for power, Harry is certain that his Father would've been a cheerful person and a good leader.

Unfortunately, everything went to shit when he was killed in a battle. Lord Wawrick took over, Juliana stopped smiling and from that point, each day was just more and more miserable. Harry started spending more time in the Binham Abbey, Juliana married Lord Wawrick and then she abandon Christianity for a religious sect that supposedly has clairvoyant priests. Harry wanted to believe that if he won the war, if he became King, he could free Juliana from that prison of delusion. He would have Lord Wawrick banished somewhere far far away and Juliana would be back to the happy woman she once was. But Harry was wrong, oh he was so terribly wrong.

Suddenly, Harry feels the presence of someone sitting down next to him. He looks to his side to find Melisende sitting down, arranging her skirts so they fit in the tight space. Harry's somewhat glad he still has his sword and daggers with him.

"What do you want?" Harry says defensively, his body now alert. Wet streaks are still visible on his face but he pretends like they're not even there. He can't appear weak in front of her.

Melisende looks at him with stoic composure. "I know where you went with your Mother today."

And here it is, those words that may or may not bring Harry to his death.

"We went for a ride, is that a crime?" Harry lies. It's useless, attempting to lie to Melisende when she has spies in the nook and cranny of England but he must at least try to hide this.

"No," Melisende replies. "But following a religious sect is."

"I am a dutiful Catholic, you cannot try me for a crime I have not committed." The defence is just pure and honest truth. If Melisende wants to get rid of Harry and tarnish his name for the whole kingdom, she will find a way around it.

"I know," Melisende nods. "And I want to help you."

Harry lets out a laugh of disbelief. "You want me dead, why do you want to help me?"

"My son loves you," Melisende remarks. "And I will not sit by and let the nobility tear you apart over your Mother's insanity."

"My Mother is not insane," Harry protests, despite knowing well enough how deep inside of her delusions Juliana is.

"Perhaps," Melisende affirms. "Still, she believes the utter nonsense those liars tell her and she's trying to make you believe the same. I know you are smart, much smarter than some give you credit for. I myself underestimated you. I thought you were just a boy who used his beauty to his advantage and that's what made my son fall in love with you. But coming to know you over the last month and seeing how you express your opinions and views, I had to accept your intelligence and bright mind. Therefore, I know you are smart enough to see that your Mother is misled and what danger her behaviour poses to you."

Harry's eyes threaten to spill tears again. "Then why do you hate me so much? Are you simply just lying to tear me and my Mother apart?"

"No," Melisende shakes her head softly and grabs one of Harry's hands in hers. "I am trying to help both you and your Mother. And I do not hate you. You are now my son-in-law, we are family and I will do everything to protect my family. My behaviour when you arrived here was... my normal reaction to foreign and new things. I react harshly and I always use violence and hateful words. I am sorry for calling you a whore. And for trying to make Zayn kill you. But I was simply worried about him and these were the most radical but most effective solutions. That is a defence mechanism I have. Zayn knows me, he knows I always react harshly and I seem cruel. I always speak cruelly because I am surrounded by men who are trying to take all my power and constantly undermine me. By terrifying everyone around me, my authority is unshakeable. It took me some time to see that you are not here to steal the throne. But that throne could be stolen from you if you do not protect yourself well enough."

Harry's barely even registering what's happening because all this seems like an insane dream. "How am I supposed to protect myself?"

"Never go see a member of that sect with your Mother again," Melisende says. "Never again in your life because all eyes are on you. You were a traitor two months ago and now you are King. People are wary and court is vicious."

"She will not abandon it," Harry shakes his head, his vision blurry with tears again. "People will talk and if she is considering a heretic, so am I. Even if I never step foot near those so called priests again."

"I will try my best to stomp down the gossip," Melisende declares. "You need to be strong. And you and Zayn need to display your marriage as a pillar for this country, you need to shove the peace it brought down people's throat."

Harry just shakes his head again, the tears now reaching his neck. "Why are you helping me?"

"Harry, listen to me," Melisende says firmly. "I was in the same position as you when I came to this court nearly twenty years ago. I was the foreigner, the French whore that will betray the King and England. I was only good for one thing - providing an heir. I must apologise to you for pressuring you into having a baby because that is what they made me do. But after I had Zayn, I put my foot down and I did not budge. I started gaining power of my own and by the time he was talking, I was ruling the kingdom from behind my husband's back. I was alone, even more than you are now because frankly, I despised my husband. Because of what I had been through, I realised I must help you. Your Mother's arrival only confirmed that to me."

"I did not know about any of that," Harry says quietly.

"Not many people know," Melisende adds. "However, in spite of everything I just said, I think you should have a child soon."

Harry's eyes widen, panic settling in. "What?"

"I hear the gossip you do not," Melisende claims. "A Catholic heir would help you with the situation with your Mother. A son would shut up the Lords about the viability of your marriage. No one would dare to disrespect you. I have heard some Lords even say that they do not believe you will be able to provide healthy heirs and that you will have to be removed so a woman could take your place. Others say that this marriage is useless and provides no political alliance. With a child, you would be safe from assassination attempts from your own people. I know you are not ready, neither of you are. But being a King hides a lot of sacrifices."

Harry stays silent. The pressure being put on him grows each day. Voicing his emotions gets nearly impossible.

"Let it go through your head," Melisende continues. "Give it some months and then perhaps you will feel ready. After your coronation, things should be clearer to you. And remember, you can ask for my help anytime."

She then leaves, letting Harry boil in solitude with his tarnished thoughts. He has no idea what to do. It was supposed to be easy, once he and Zayn got married and started ruling. How did everything get even more fucking complicated?

With the coronation taking place next week, Harry decides to lock these thoughts away at least until then. He just hopes keeping it all in won't end in an explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii :) come say hi @harryssecondguccisuit on tumblr :)


	21. Long May They Reign

_July 1485, Windsor Castle_

The morning of their coronation reminds Harry starkly of the morning of the battle of Bosworth. With the sun shining and July heat appearing since the early morning, it's the picture perfect summer day. But unlike the day of the battle, Harry doesn't wake up alone. He rises along with his husband, the love of his life, the man he will rule over England with. There are no uncertainties, no fear and anxiety over his life. His hands don't shake, his throat doesn't close up, his eyes don't burn with tears. He is right where he's supposed to be.

Apart from their coronation, they decided to publicly renew or rather affirm their vows. Since the Bishop of Canterbury is already there, it's fairly simple. It isn't a big affair, the even taking place in the St. George's chapel in Windsor Castle. Only the court is in attendance, and not even absolutely everyone. They're already married after all and their coronation is the more important event of the day.

They decided to finally choose a name for the dynasty their children will carry on because trying to pick one of their names would cause another war so the better choice was picking a different name altogether. Since there wasn't any word or name in particular that would speak to them, they decided to have their children carry the name Plantagenet - the original name of the dynasty both their houses come from. No one can argue against it since it's an already established name connected to the royal family and them both.

Any secrecy before the ceremony is dismissed. They wake up together, leave for the chapel together, and they even decided to walk to the altar hand in hand because it's not the first time they've done it. Before the ceremony in their chambers, they showed each other the letters they had both hidden, from the time they were apart. Zayn said that despite the danger that their discovery could pose, he had taken them from Skipton to Nottingham and from there to Bosworth, even taking them with him after the battle. Harry had done the same because they meant too much to be simply thrown into the fire.

The ceremony itself is terribly short due to their coronation taking place just a few hours after it. They walk to the altar together, holding hands and looking over the courtiers in attendance. Their mothers are sitting on the opposite sides of the chapel, not surprisingly. Harry's stomach turns when he sees Melisende and remembers what she told him in that same chapel just a few weeks earlier. He didn't dare to speak to her alone since then.

They repeat the same simple latin vows as they did in the Abbey church, looking at each other with clandestine smiles and their hands interlocked. Having another wedding just two months after their first one, purely to please the nobility, is ridiculous but what can they do? Better have two documents confirming their marriage, one signed by the highest ranking religious official in England, in case the Pope starts causing trouble like he usually does when a monarch dares to do something without his approval. Harry's actually quite surprised that they haven't heard from him yet. He's unsure whether that's bad or good, but he tries to ignore it. In case there's some bullshit with the church coming their way, Harry wants to put it off for as long as possible.

When they kiss in front of nearly the whole court, it's impossible not to laugh afterwards because for two moths, there were rumours about how they don't love each other and everything about this marriage is just politics. There could not be a craziest thing when they strangely live in the same chambers, unlike most monarchs and countless of guards and servants have caught or heard them fucking. The nobility can always muster up some insanely creative rumours.

After they leave the chapel, they get into a carriage right outside of it and make their way to Westminster Abbey, where everyone is gathering to witness their coronation.

"Twice married within two months, how fun?" Harry laughs when they get inside.

"No one can doubt our marriage now," Zayn nods.

They kiss lazily during the ride between giggles and hushed whispers of affection. It's mind-boggling, that they are about to be crowned. Not only they are both with their heads firmly on their necks, but they are married and most importantly, they are _happy_. There are many problems waiting for them back home, about Lords wanting to be on the newly assembled privy council and the pressure to provide an heir, but today is just theirs. With all what they've already been through, they deserve to just fucking forget about everything for a bit and celebrate the peace and love. It's what they _deserve_.

Their carriage takes the longer way to give the nobility coming from their wedding some time to get to Westminster Abbey before them, the Bishop included. Some nobles that weren't stupid enough to still doubt Harry and Zayn's marriage or weren't curious enough to want to see them proclaim their love with dull latin words, have passed on the wedding and gone straight to Westminster for the coronation.

As they near Westminster, the reality of what's about to happen starts to get muddled. It's as if they were in a dream and all this would disappear as they woke up and faced the cruel reality. The surreality of it comes from its perfection. This is exactly what they wanted and now they're getting. There must be a catch but where is it?

After what seems like an eternity, they arrive in front of Westminster Abbey. People are absolutely everywhere, all of them trying to catch a glimpse of their Kings. But the space is guarded and without any problems, they get out of the carriage and start walking towards the cathedral. A choir sings as they enter, thousands of eyes on them. The place is filling with people to the brim, eyes watching them from the floor and the upper level. In that moment, the walk towards the thrones in the front seems like a thousand miles.

They share a look, one of excitement and worry because this is the most important day of their lives. This is the day that their people will remember for as long as they shall live. This is the confirmation of success, at least one part of it. Their road to their crowns was successful, not they need to make sure their reign will be as well.

Hands clasped together, they walk towards their future. The audience around them watched with wide eyes in anticipation but they both ignore them completely. It's like they were alone in the room.

Reaching the two thrones at least, the Archbishop is waiting for them. The crown jewels and cloaks ready at the side, the Archbishop welcomes them, holding the book of Holy Gospels. They kneel in front of him, quietly waiting for him to begin.

Harry feels like he's forgotten everything he's supposed to say and he's going to make a fool of himself. His mind goes blank but it needs to change before the is meant to speak.

To truly present their power as equal, Harry and Zayn decided to take the vows at the same time, answer at the same time.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of this Kingdom of England, and the dominions thereto belonging, according to the statutes in Parliament agreed on, and the laws and customs of the same?" the Archbishop's voice carries the words all over the cathedral.

"I solemnly promise so to do," they reply at the same time.

"Will you to your power cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in all your judgements?"

"I will."

"Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of God, the true profession of the gospel and the Catholic religion, and will you preserve unto the bishops and clergy of this Realm, and to the churches committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges as by law do or shall appertain unto them, or any of them?"

"All this I promise to do."

After that, they place their hands on the book of Holy Gospels.

"The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep: So help me God."

The cloaks are then fastened around their shoulders and the crowns put on their heads. They rise, taking a seat on each their own throne and the crown jewels are given to them. The audience cheers for them, many of them calling out "Long may they reign." This is it. It's official. They are the rulers of Englands.

Their crowns aren't the same, only in height. Harry's is less traditional, with imprints of laurels incorporated into the classic design. But the crowns are theirs, never used before even if they do resemble the original. While keeping the tradition, they are moving forward and this is a small reminder.

Harry and Zayn exchange a smile then, looking at each other for the first time as official Kings, when just a few minutes before they looked at each other as royals and husbands. Now, they are without a doubt the most important people in the kingdom. No one's word comes before theirs. Their reign has begun and may it last for decades.

xxx

Many hours later, they are finally in their bed again. Both tipsy and giggling after the celebration that had tables bending with food and wife flowing like rivers, they want nothing more than just kiss and fall into each other's arms. They didn't have much time for each other because everyone wanted to talk to the new Kings of course, wanted to get on their good side and already ask for possible favours and a place on the privy council.

"Want to ride you," Harry mumbles into Zayn's neck between kisses.

"Thought you would fuck me, like after our first wedding?"

"That too," Harry agrees as he already takes of Zayn's shirt. "But remember the beach before that? Our bedroom is not as pretty as the beach but I am still as good as riding your dick, love."

Zayn laughs, pulling Harry into a kiss. "Whatever you want, my King."

"That was so hot," Harry gasps out between kisses. "I need to smuggle my crown into our chambers and you will fuck me while I wear that."

"Not now thought, because I cannot wait to get my hands on you," Zayn says, ridding Harry of the last of his clothes.

"Of course," Harry smiles. He pushes Zayn towards the bed until he falls back and moves towards the headboard. Harry straddles him, taking Zayn's fingers into his mouth and sucking on them to get them wet before guiding Zayn's hand towards his arse.

Minutes later when Harry's finally seated on his husband's dick, the room's filled with their moans and words of love and affection. They're kissing between moans, Zayn's hands gripping Harry's hips while Harry helps his balance by having his hands on Zayn's shoulders. It's perfect as always.

Harry's mind strays in the silence, maybe because of the drinking, maybe not. He thinks about another duty that they have, atop the countless other - providing an heir. Melisende's words sneak into his head too, no matter how hard he's tried to forget them in the past weeks.

A duty is a duty. They are Kings now, their decisions don't affect just them and their closest. Their lives are always in danger and leaving the Kingdom without an heir would be a disaster, the threat of another war much greater.

"Come in me," Harry whispers hesitantly, his face hidden in Zayn's neck. "It's alright, do not question it."

The thing is, Harry doesn't _want to_ , but he _has to_. Whether now or in a year, an heir will always be needed. He can't run away from it. Perhaps his Mother was right - if he has a child now, he won't have to bother by it afterwards and he can focus on just ruling and nothing else. Melisende made some good points too, because what is worse - death or having a child?

Harry has been in battles, he has faced trained knights and killed many skilled men and he has not been more terrified before than in this moment. In a way, he is still risking his life, just in a different way. He can easily bleed out or come down with something worse. But he needs to be brave, treat this as just another battle that will not bring his down and take his life.

If he dies at the end of all this, he will come to haunt his Mother and Melisende.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii :) come say hi on tumblr @harryssecondguccisuit :)


	22. Keep On

_August 1485, Windsor Castle_

"Are you ready?"

Harry picks up his sword, trying the weight of it in his hand. Helen is standing not far from him, wielding a sword of her own. She's wearing pants and a flowing white shirt, a stark difference from her usual dresses. This is how Harry's been starting his mornings at least three times a week - training with her.

They've made up since Helen's confession. Because Melisende herself turned out to be not as terrible as she seemed at first, Harry decided to forgive Helen. He sought her out at court and talked to her about everything. In the end, she really had only the best intentions at heart. Harry has too many enemies to disregard a loyal friend like Helen, even if she wasn't always being truthful.

"I am always ready," Helen says with a smirk, already getting her stance on.

Skipping words, Harry swings his sword. Helen blocks him, meeting him with strength Harry was shocked by at first. She could easily take him down if she wanted to, even if Harry has a good few inches of height and pounds of muscles on her.

They continue to spar for long minutes that seem like an eternity and a second at the same time. Harry can feels beads of sweat running down his temples and his back but he's not stopping. Helen's gasping for air just like he is, yet her determination to continue doesn't falter.

Harry's stomach suddenly lurches. His vision goes black for a slit second before he runs to a bucket by the door and throws up.

Helen's at his side in a moment, caressing his back. "What happened? Did I hit your stomach? Are you alright?"

Harry shakes his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "No. No, you didn't."

"Are you ill?" Helen asks, the concern clear as she puts her palm on his forehead, trying to see if he's feverish or not.

"I don't know," Harry sighs, his arse hitting the floor as he plops down. "It's August, it is unlikely."

"Dear Lord," Helen gasps. "Could it be plague?"

"Plague," Harry chuckles agonisingly. "This has been going on for a week. If it was plague I would have been dead already."

"Oh, sweetheart," Helen smiles sadly, pushing Harry's sweaty hair out of his face. "Please tell me you did not let your Mother pressure you into having a child."

Harry's head is hanging low. "It was not my Mother. Melisende has helped me quite a lot and an heir would strenghten my position at court. And I would not have to worry about heir later. It is for the best."

"So you know for sure?" Helen asks.

Harry lifts his head up. "No. I have not seen the physician yet. But we have... you know. After the coronation."

After that night, Harry felt the regret right as he woke up the next morning, his thighs and arse sticky. He scrubbed himself in the bath furiously, as if it could take back what he had done. And then when the morning sickness started last week, Harry knew he had fucked up.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Helen asks carefully. "And does Zayn know?"

"I will go alone," Harry replies, standing up at last. "And no, he does not know. Not yet."

Helen looks at him with badly concealed pity. She knows that Harry resents this. From their conversations back in Wawrick, it's pretty clear to her that Harry didn't want to bear an heir this soon, that he was scared to do it at all. But it is what it is. Harry realized that if he doesn't want to end up with his head on the executioner's block, he's gonna have to grit his teeth and get through this.

"I will go see the physician right now," Harry says quietly. "It is better to know right away than wait."

Helen nods. "Good luck. If you need anything, just let me know and I will be there in an instant."

Harry gives her a tired smile and leaves the training room. He feels miserable but everytime these thoughts invade his mind he reminds himself that this was the only way to peace. And along with this anguish, he also gained the best husband, lover and King he could ask for. Every coin has two sides.

xxx

Less than an hour later, Harry is back in his and Zayn's chambers. He plops down on their bed, sitting on his side and staring out of the window numbly. There is the looming uncertainty of what to feel. He should be happy, shouldn't he? Probably celebrating right now and telling everyone. But Harry dreads the moment when he has to say something.

It's official, he's with a child. The doulas have a way to tell, something about body changes and what not. He's painfully aware of the area around his hips and stomach. It's like he could see through his skin and he tries to pretend like he's missing parts of his body. But there is a child inside of him. One that will be out in the world in a few months. One that will sit on the throne when he and Zayn are dead. The child that might save his life or rob him of it.

A tear slips down Harry's cheek and that's when he takes off his boots and lies down on the bed. He lies on his stomach, while he still can, hiding his face in the pillows and setting the tears and sobs free. It's ridiculous perhaps, crying when he should be celebrating but Harry didn't want this. In some years, certainly, but now when he is freshly married and eighteen. He can't even complain because a lot of people have babies at an even younger age.

Harry doesn't know how much time passes until he hears the main door open and foortsteps coming closer to him. For a split second, he wishes it's one of Melisende's assassins but when Harry feels someone sitting down on the edge of the bed and laying a gentle hand on Harry's shoulderblade, he knows it isn't anyone else but his husband.

"Love, why are you crying?" Zayn asks, caressing Harry's back. "What happened?"

It takes all of Harry's strength to turn around and face him.

"I'm... with a child," he says because there is no point in walking around it.

Zayn's face shows clear shock, but he tries to school his expression, mainly for Harry's benefit. Harry knows he probably feels about as happy about it as Harry himself does but there's nothing to be done now.

"When did you find out?"

Harry sighs, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. "Today. Just... right after I finished training with Helen."

"Are you alright, darling?" Zayn asks, his hand on Harry's cheek, his thumb running over the skin gently.

"Not really," Harry replies honestly. "But it needs to be done, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Zayn says. "But we had time. I would have protected you from my Mother. I do not want you to be unhappy, Haz."

Harry shakes his head with a somber smile. "If I have you by my side, I cannot be unhappy. Even in this situation."

Zayn returns the smile. "You are my sun, love."

"Can you lay with me?" Harry asks. "I suppose hugging you is better than crying into a pillow."

"Of course," Zayn says and moments later, Harry's wrapped in his arms.

They talk in hushed voices about their plans, about what to do about the Privy Council. Zayn doesn't mention the child and Harry's eternally thankful for it. He knows most people will treat him differently now, but as long as the person he loves the most doesn't, Harry will be just fine.

"Can we not tell anyone?" Harry suggests in a quiet voice. "Not for at least a week. I want to be just myself for a little longer."

"Of course," Zayn says, his fingers playing with Harry's hair. "It is all your decision, my love.

xxx

Harry tells Melisende about the baby before he tells his Mother. He doesn't know why but he knew that she wouldn't talk about any insane priests and premonitions. Melisende just smiles at him a little and says that she's always there for him if he wants to talk or if he needs any help. It's a nice sentiment. Since Harry can't really count on support from his own Mother, he's quite certain he will find himself seeking Melisende for advice. He doesn't know much because he was never meant to bear his own children. Juliana only told him that he could after an examination with a physician when he was around thirteen and how to avoid unwanted pregnancies in his own case and also if he slept with a girl. That's all.

Juliana finds out two days later because Harry talked himself out of telling her at least eight times. As expected, she pulled out that same shit from Bedwyr as before and then two days after that, she gave Harry about seven potions to drinks and salves to put on his body. Safe to say, Harry threw all of them away immediately.

Within days the whole court knows and then they officially announce that the heir to the English throne will be born in a little over seven months. It seems terribly short when they say it out loud. But the reaction from the public and nobility is good, better than good actually. Everyone's celebrating and there are bets about the name. It's insane that the people are thinking about things, that haven't even flashed Harry's mind. A name for the child, godparents, all of that is something Harry thought he would figure out in half a year and not now.

Weeks pass and August slowly shifts into September. Harry stubbornly ignores everything connected to the baby, doesn't acknowledge it past a "thank you" in meetings with the nobility or foreign dignitaries when their present their congratulations. When his Mother tries to make him see Bedwyr, he literally turns on his heel and leaves the room. He rebelliously continues training with Helen, not every morning but as often as he can sneak away. There is no way in hell Harry will let this unborn child control his entire life. He didn't lose a limb, he can continue doing things like any other person.

Harry dreads looking at himself in the mirror yet he still obsessively stares at his stomach every morning to see any physical signs of change. He can't see anything yet but he does feel the muscles getting softer, a bit of weight settling around his love handles from the lack of intensive training he was used to. But for now, he can manage.

As an island of solace in this hostile environment, Zayn doesn't treat Harry any differently. He doesn't prompt any conversations about the baby, doesn't ask Harry anything about it, apart from the usual "Are you feeling well?" and Harry's immensely grateful. They make love like they did before, they go on rides when they steal a little time from themselves, everything's just like it was before they learned about the baby.

At the end of September, Harry's writing a letter to the French King when he's interrupted by a servant, saying that there is an important visit. Harry's confused because they aren't expecting anyone and no royal would show up unannounced unless it was an act of war but they don't have bad relationships with anyone.

Harry follows the servant to the entrance hall, where he finds Zayn, looking just as confused as Harry's feeling.

"Do you know who is coming?" Zayn asks when Harry comes to him, their hands slotting together right away.

"I have no idea," Harry says. "Could it be someone coming with an army? To attack? Because I do not think anyone has a reason for it."

"I mean," Zayn sighs. "There is always a reason for war if you try hard enough. But I do not believe anyone would attack us when we have been corresponding with all European royals and none of they have expressed any animosity or discontent."

Before Harry has the chance to reply, the door opens. And inside steps the person Harry wished to never see again in his life.

Lord Wawrick walks in like he's the King of the castle, looking around like there's no person better than him. It takes Harry a lot not to gasp. He grips Zayn's hand tighter, his knuckles going white.

"What are you doing here?" Harry spits as soon as the door is closed. "You are not welcome at my court."

"I am your step-father, Harry," Lord Wawrick smirks. "As long as Juliana and you are here, I can come and go as I please."

"Do you realise you are talking to the King of England?" Zayn asks with cutting tone.

Lord Wawrick sets his eyes on Zayn, presenting a fake smile. "My apologies, Your Grace. I am just happy to finally be at the royal court."

"Then behave in a manner that will not make me send you away. Permanently," Zayn says, his hand still not letting go off Harry's.

"I most certainly will," Lord Wawrick lies. "Oh, I almost forgot. Word has got to me that you are having a child. Congratulations. You are not far along, are you?"

Lord Wawrick stares Harry down from head to toe. If Harry wasn't holding Zayn's hand he would've punched him.

"You are quite... lanky," Lord Wawrick continues. "Well, you swapped a sword for a baby. It is not surprising."

"This is none of your business," Harry says. "Why did you come here?"

"When I heard you're with a child, I thought I would come here and help you with the Privy Council a little bit. Take some of that weight off your shoulders."

Harry laughs, poison seeing through the expression. "You have to be insane if you think I will appoint you as a member of the Privy Council."

Lord Wawrick glares at Harry, half in shock, half in anger. "You are inexperienced and pregnant. And you are barely more than a child yourself."

"You believe that takes away from my ability to run a country?" Harry lifts his brows. "Don't flatter yourself, Lord Wawrick. Even if I lost my mind I would run a country better than you ever could. Do not forget I remember how you fucked up and my Father got killed. How I would have found a similar fate if it wasn't for my own brain.

"Do not talk to me or my husband, Lord Wawrick. I respect that you are my Mother's husband but that is all you are to me. Do not try to interfere with state matter or you will be jailed. Good day."

Harry turns away after he finished talking, dragging Zayn behind him. They pass Juliana on their way back to their chambers but Harry doesn't even look at her. He's had enough of people trying to control him. This was the last straw.


	23. Realisation

_October 1485 - Windsor Castle_

Harry's been watching Lord Wawrick like a hawk for a month already. He doesn't seem to have any allies on the court, at least not yet. There aren't many people that came to court after Harry's arrival, except for his Mother and some of her ladies in waiting. And Helen, of course. Lord Wawrick slithers around the castle, straining his ears to hear any gossip and information he could use against Harry. And Harry's been avoiding him. Juliana too, for that matter. Ever since he found out about the child, she's been unbearable, pressuring him about seeing Bedwyr any time Harry finds himself around her. She claims that Bedwyr could find out if he was having a son or not but Harry doesn't want to know, not that he thinks that wacky priest could find it out.

And if Harry's watching Lord Wawrick like a hawk, Melisende might as well grew another pair of eyes. She at him with poison when he first started circling around her and Harry knows for a fact that all the spies she has in the castle are following every step Lord Wawrick takes. He's responsible for the death of her husband, she knows that he's there only to hurt her and everyone she cares about.

Harry reluctantly accepted the invitation to breakfast with his Mother and Lord Wawrick. He lies in bed longer than he should because he dreads it.

"Love, are you not getting up today?" Zayn asks, fully dressed as he sits on the side of the bed. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I feel fine," Harry sighs. "I don't want to see my Mother and Lord Wawrick. I wanted to bring you along but they insisted I come alone. What I they murder me?"

"Baby," Zayn chuckles and kisses Harry's forehead. "They will not murder you. Juliana is your Mother, she loves you."

"She does," Harry agrees. "She has also tried to make me drink fertility potions and still thinks sessions with that charlatan are a good idea. Not to mention that Lord Wawrick is her husband."

"I will send extra guards there, hm?" Zayn asks, his hands in Harry's hair. God, how Harry wishes they could stay here all day on their own. They weren't even on a honeymoon yet. And with the baby, he doubts they will have the time for honeymoon that soon.

"Please do," Harry says quietly. "Kiss me again before you leave?"

Zayn just smiles at him, bending down to place a short kiss on Harry's lips. Harry tries to keep him down with a hand on the back of his neck but Zayn pulls away regardless, mumbling something about a meeting with dignitaries of the Scottish King. Harry should've been there too if it wasn't for his Mother.

"Stall the meeting a bit?" Harry pleads. "I will get away from the breakfast as fast as I can and I will join you. I do not want the reputation of someone with no political impact. But my Mother will not budge and I need to visit her."

"Sure," Zayn nods. "I will wait for you as you get ready and then I can walk you to your Mother's chambers?"

"That would be perfect," Harry smiles and he already feels a bit better about facing his Mother and Lord Wawrick.

xxx

Juliana and Lord Wawrick are already seated at a table with food in front of them when Harry walks in.

"And he comes at last," Lord Wawrick bellows. He doesn't even stand up to bow. If Harry had an hour less of sleep he would've made him kneel but he won't tarnish his mood right now.

"My day doesn't revolve around you, Lord Wawrick," Harry replies calmly as he takes a seat.

"Harry, sweetheart, please be nice to Nathaniel," Juliana begs. "At least today."

"I am always nice, Mother," Harry says with the fakest smile he can muster up in the morning. "So, why did you two want to see me?"

"Already down to business?" Lord Wawrick remarks. "Can we not enjoy the meal first?"

"No, I have a meeting after this. Our alliance with Scotland is more important than your feelings," Harry replies and already starts eating. At least the sickness in the mornings has mostly disappeared.

"Son," Juliana breathes out and stops eating. "One of the reason why we wanted to talk to you is how much you work. You cannot do it when you are carrying a baby."

Harry lifts his eyes from the plate, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "I cannot sit in a chair while I talk to people because there is a child inside of me? Then what am I supposed to do? Lie in bed all day?"

"The stress is bad for you and the baby," Juliana tries to reason. "That is why you should appoint Nathaniel on the Privy Council. He will help you."

Harry chuckles coldly. "Of course. Why did I not see it before I got here? I would have saved myself the walk."

"Harry, you are not in a position to rule a country," Lord Wawrick says then. "Your decisions are affected and that is not good for the kingdom."

Harry throws his cutlery down angrily. "My decisions are affected only by my anger that you two are causing."

"Harry!" Juliana gasps. "We are looking out for you. I am your Mother, I do not want to see you over-working yourself and for God's sake you need to stop training. I asked my servant and she said you still train almost every morning with Helen. With swords! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"I do," Harry replies, seemingly calm but he's seething inside. "I know what I can take. I know what I can do. You will not keep me from being a King, nor will you keep me from training just because Lord Wawrick wants to implement his stupid, useless ideas and he has no support here."

Harry stands up then, throwing the napkin from his lap in the plate. "I am not anybody's puppet. You will either treat me like your son or I will send you away from court and lock this liar in a cell until he rots. Zayn and I will decide who will join the new Privy Council but I can assure there is not a spot for Lord Wawrick and never will be."

He leaves the room without even acknowledging his Mother's pleas to come back. Harry's had enough of being treated like a child. If he is supposed to bear a child himself then he can rule a country too. He doesn't need anyone's approval.

xxx

In the following weeks, Harry and Zayn finally put the new Privy Council together. It's a very delicate matter because those are the people that will make decisions about the kingdom alongside Harry and Zayn. It was quite a long process, where Melisende helped out quite a lot thanks to her spies and knowledge about everyone and everything. They had to make sure that every member was completely loyal to them and to England. And after hours of sitting at the table in the castle's library, writing down the best features of every person, they made their final decision.

Surprisingly, they kept quite a few people from the old Privy Council that was helping Melisende. They were already loyal and had experience. But they needed young people too. Their new military commander was Duke of Buckingham, younger and more capable than the Duke of Somerset. Frederick, Zayn's friend from York found a spot there due to the importance of his family and his loyalty. He arrived at the court not long after Lord Wawrick and brought a few young people along so Harry finally doesn't feel swarmed with people his Mother's age.

Helen and Melisende had to be on the Privy Council because they are the people that Harry and Zayn trust the most. There isn't anyone else who will give them better advice and think about their best interest. Raphael refused to move to court but he promised he would attend the meetings if he was in England. And that was it. They kept the Privy Council smaller but more efficient.

The first meeting of the newly assembled Privy Council takes place at the end of November. Sparse snow is falling outside as they gather in the meeting room around the long table that's new, a replacement that's thicker to fit two chairs at the head of it. Even Raphael made the effort to attend, pushing back his journey to Edinburgh by a week.

After the official words of welcome and so on, they're ready to move on to the matters that actually need solving.

"The treasury has been quite strained the past few years, but it is not alarming in the slightest," Harry says, looking down at the papers with more numbers than he would like to see in one place. "We have entered an era of peace and ever since the war ended, the finances have been steadily rising at a more than ideal pace. We should-"

Harry's interrupted by the door being _smashed_ open. His body jerks at the shock and he turns to see who entered like a damn animal. He realises he should no have been surprised, because there's Lord Wawrick, angry like a cat that's been thrown into water.

"Well, good day, Lord," Harry says coldly. "Anything we can help you with? Could you perhaps wait until the session has ended? We are quite busy."

"You little tramp," Lord Wawrick spits. "You know why I am here. To attend the meeting."

"That is for Privy Council members only," Zayn says with a fake smile. "Apologies, Lord. You can arrange a meeting with us perhaps but you cannot join this one."

"You two are fools," Lord Wawrick says, his eyes squinting in hatred. "Young, stupid fools. You would have been nothing without me, Harry. Nothing!"

"I would have had a Father who is still alive," Harry says calmly. "And you did _nothing_ to help me get on the throne. Not a single thing. Now leave. While I still have some kindness left for you."

Lord Wawrick doesn't reply, he only stares at Harry with some much anger Harry's certain he would've been dead if looks could kill.

"You are here only thanks to the good of my heart," Harry continues. "And for my Mother. We are not in Wawrick anymore. You do not make any decisions here. Now get out."

Lord Wawrick doesn't move.

"Guards?" Harry looks at the two guards watching Lord Wawrick by the door. They promptly grab him but Lord Wawrick shakes them off and with one more nasty look, he turns on his heel and leaves.

The meeting continues as if nothing happened at all.

xxx

Harry feels good. He feels happy after quite some time. It's a good change. After the meeting, he and Zayn took the rest of the day off and went on a ride to the town while snow fell all around them. It was rather romantic, even despite the cold air hitting their faces. When they got back, they cuddled on a sofa in the chambers before joining some court members for dinner. Dinner turned into some late night entertainment provided by drunk Raphael and his inappropriate stories from his travels. The young ladies of the court vie for their attention because they still believe that Harry and Zayn will have mistresses but they couldn't be more wrong. When one of them, was it the Duke of Somerset's daughter? Harry's not sure but she touched Zayn's knee quite bravely and Harry had to hold himself not to lash out at her. When she saw Harry's look, she took the hand back like she was burned and didn't dare to look Zayn's way again.

Back in their chambers, they kissed for a bit before they decided they were too tired to fuck. It was after midnight and the morning brought only more work for them. When Harry was undressing in front of the floor-length mirror, he noticed his stomach again. He tried to stop watching himself so obsessively but now he can't ignore the fact that he has a child inside of him. He can still pretend like nothing is going on because when he's dressed, it isn't noticeable. But now when there's nothing in the way, Harry sees the change. It isn't a big change yet but it's been... four months already, almost five. He tries to train still, less with heavy swords and more with sabers and daggers to keep the additional weight away but it can't keep him from showing.

Zayn wraps his arms around Harry's middle from the back suddenly, kissing Harry's shoulder and gently guiding him away from the mirror.

"C'mon," he whispers into Harry's skin. "Let's go to bed. You are beautiful."

"Am I?" Harry says. "Will you not change me for someone more beautiful?"

"Who could possibly be more beautiful than you?" Zayn chuckles and continues kissing Harry's neck.

"Duke of Somerset's daughter," Harry says stubbornly. "She was all over you tonight."

"Yes, she was," Zayn agrees, his eyes meeting Harry's in the mirror. "But I am kissing you and not her, am I not? And I love you, I am married to you. I do not want a mistress."

"Really?" Harry asks.

"Really," Zayn says decidedly and kisses Harry's shoulder again. "I did not vow to love you in front of God _two times_ only to go and fuck some sixteen-year-old girl. Now let's go to bed. I'm not tired anymore."

Zayn punctuates the sentences with gripping Harry's dick in his hand. From there, Harry goes with him easily.

xxx

It's few hours later when Harry lays in bed, Zayn wrapped around his back, overthinking everything. It's good sometimes, to have the stark silence of the night to clear his head and get his thoughts together. He comes up with some of his best ideas at night, usually overthinking in bed like this.

But that night his thinking is interrupted. He feels little fluttering in his belly, like a tiny fish trying to get out of a small pool of water. His heart then nearly stops and he wants to scream but thinks better of it. This is the moment that assures him that he can't keep ignoring the child.

He doesn't know if he feels terrified or at peace with the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, please let me know your thoughts on Tumblr @insomniacicarus :)


	24. Snake in the Grass

_Late November, early December 1485, Windsor Castle_

The very morning after that night where Harry felt the fluttering, he gets out of bed early to find Melisende. He needs to talk to someone about it before it drives him insane. But when he gets to her chambers, he only finds a main here and she tells him that Lady Melisende already left for a visit up North. Harry curses, because he forgot about that trip that Melisende was going on. She's visiting a friend... or something.

With Melisende gone, he finds Helen and confides in her. Since she never had any children herself, she doesn't really know how to console him but it still helps. Harry didn't want to tell Zayn about it because a child affects a relationship on a level that Harry can't think about right now. He wants to keep the baby out of their relationship for as long as he can.

Without Melisende at court, Harry feels somehow less safe. He doesn't know how to contact her spies around the castle to find out what Lord Wawrick is up to. She's supposed to be gone for a little over a week and that's more than enough time for Lord Wawrick to attempt to ruin Harry's life.

But Harry isn't weak. He won't be threatened by an old man. He's the King of England after all.

xxx

It's early December and Harry and Zayn are stumbling into their bedroom while kissing, curious hands touching each other everywhere. They fall down on the bed with a thud, giggling like they were sneaking around again with no kingly responsibilities.

"Can I fuck you?" Harry gasps out. "I haven't even felt like a man lately. I swear if someone asks me about the baby one more time my cock is going to fall off."

Zayn laughs rambunctiously. "Now that would be a tragedy. You have a very nice cock. Loosing that would be a disaster indeed."

"Are you making fun of me?" Harry frowns.

"No, of course not," Zayn smiles, pulling him down into a kiss. "I love your cock. But it isn't going to fall off, don't worry."

"So sure of yourself," Harry grins.

"Yes," Zayn smirks. "You can fuck me. But afterwards I want to fuck you as well. Your arse looks amazing lately. I could spank you too, love."

"Are we not getting ahead of ourselves?"

"No," Zayn hums. "So are you getting your clothes off or what?"

Surely, Harry doesn't need persuading to undress and fuck his very, very beautiful husband.

Afterwards, Harry sits down on his heels, panting, still sitting between Zayn's legs.

"So, feel like a man yet?" Zayn smirks at him.

"I guess," Harry sighs. "You take my breath away, no matter what we do."

Zayn's smile softens. "That is quite the compliment, coming from the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes upon."

"Are you sure?" Harry asks with a nervous chuckle.

"Absolutely," Zayn affirms. "And I have noticed you being self-conscious lately. You watch yourself in the mirror all the time and you do not believe my flattery. But trust me, you will always be the most beautiful person to me. Always. I do not care that you have quite a... big belly now-"

"What?!"

"Well, I just noticed that lately you have started showing so I assumed that is why you were not feeling quite as confident or-"

"Shut your mouth."

Harry hastily gets off the bed, throwing a robe on himself, wrapping it tightly around his torso with his arms. He puts on some slippers that are around and rushes out of the room.

"Harry, love, what did I do?" Zayn calls after him. "Baby, please, do not be angry with me. I did not try to make you upset, I love you more than anything. Come back, it's the middle of the night."

Harry turns away to look at Zayn, who's still sprawled naked on the bed. "I am not speaking to you. Good night."

He gets out on the corridor quickly, startling the guards. Glaring at them, Harry takes quick steps to get to his own chambers. Yes, he is acting childish and yes, he will ignore Zayn, at least for a day. Everyone one is talking about the baby and Harry thought that at least in his own fucking bedroom with his own fucking husband he would be safe from it but guess not. Why would Zayn even mention all that? Fine, he might've wanted to make Harry feel better but God, he needs to learn how to read the situation because that was the last thing Harry wanted to hear.

He noticed the whole belly situation, he surely fucking did. No need to remind him because he gets a nasty reminder anytime he tries to turn to sleep on his stomach or put on pants without lacing.

Harry hears one of the guards following him and he's grateful for it when he enters his chambers, the emptiness of them frightful. He lies down in the bed right away, closing his eyes and willing himself to fall asleep. It works, thankfully, even in spite of the twitching in his belly that doesn't seem to quiet down lately.

xxx

The first thing that Harry asks the maid coming with his clothes the next morning, is if Melisende has arrived or not. She says that she got back to the castle late last night. Harry immediately sends her off with a note to Melisende, saying that he's coming to her chambers for breakfast.

It's snowing outside, it has been for days. The rooms are colder, only fireplaces keeping them warm. Harry never liked winter much. The furs he has to wear when he goes out, snow melting in his hair, the cold seeping in from windows and doors. He also hates the lengthy darkness that lingers way too long for his liking. With only candles and fire illuminating the majority of his days, there's certain sadness that never seems to go away. It really hit him today, when he didn't wake up with the warmth of Zayn's arms around him, his kisses not waking up Harry properly like they do every morning.

Harry's in Melisende's chambers swiftly, dressed and without an appetite. She hugs him when she sees the grim expression on his face and they get seated at a small table next to a window.

"How was your trip?" Harry asks politely, sipping at tea.

"It was fine," Melisende replies. "I was visiting a friend but I had some work to do too."

Harry just nods, not really curious about what problems are going to fall down on him in a certain amount of time.

"What is going on?" Melisende asks then, lying her hand atop of Harry's on the table. "Something is troubling you. What happened at court? I have not had the chance to speak to my spies yet."

"I- uh," Harry hesitates. "I felt the baby move. Last week. And every day since then."

Melisende leans back again her chair, letting out a huge breath. "Oh. How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure," Harry replies honestly. "I want to be happy because I am supposed to be happy, right? But I cannot bring myself to it. I am scared. I am scared for my life, my marriage, my reign. I just want to be done with this."

"Love," Melisende says, a determined look on her face. "You are a strong person. You are young. God knows I did not make it easy for you to get where you are right now but you _are_ here. This is terrifying but trust me, there will be bigger challenges that you will have to face as years go by. A baby is not a war and you have survived one. You _ended_ it. Peacefully. You can voice your fears and worries but do not let them take you down."

"I just," Harry sighs. "I just wanted to enjoy my youth for a bit longer. I always had to train and fight in battles and then when I met Zayn, I actually felt my age. Being with him, I just felt so happy. We had fun and I hoped we would travel but now we are stuck here with a child. It is not fair, Melisende. I never had a moment for myself in my life. My Mother did not let me stray from my goals, or her goals rather."

"Life of a King is not fair, sweetheart," Melisende says somberly. "Speaking of travelling, aren't you and Zayn going to visit some cities around in celebration of the heir?"

Harry groans. "I almost forgot about that. Yes, we are. Right at the beginning of January."

There's a knock on the door. Melisende calls out for the person to come in and a servant walks in, a letter clutched in her hands. She bows, and gives the letter to Harry.

"From your Mother, Your Grace," she says before bowing again and leaving the room.

Harry shares a worried look with Melisende before he breaks the seal. As he keeps reading, his anxiety and anger both grow with every single word. When he finishes it, he stands up and throws it into nearby fireplace.

"What did she say?" Melisende asks.

"That I should have lunch with Lord Wawrick today," Harry mumbles. "That he wants to apologise for how he behaved in that Privy Council meeting."

Melisende scoffs. "That meeting was last month. Took him long enough. Will you go?"

"I am not sure," Harry shakes his head a bit. "I might. Just to see what crap comes out of his mouth now. And perhaps I will kick him out of court permanently. This could be a good opportunity for that."

"Be careful," Melisende warns. "He is one stupid fuck but he can cause quite a lot of damage."

"I know," Harry nods. "I will be careful."

The fluttering starts again. For some reason, his hands shoots to his stomach for the first time, touching the place where he felt the fluttering. Maybe it will all be fine in the end.

xxx

Harry decided to have lunch with Lord Wawrick after all. If he starts to attempt manipulating him again, Harry will simply banish him from court. And if he doesn't... well, Harry will eat some lunch with unpleasant company and go about his day.

He needs to find Zayn after the lunch, apologise for running off like a stupid child. Stupid fights about nothing are what brings a relationship down and Harry refuses to hurt his marriage in any way. They need to be strong, for their country and for their child.

Harry enters the chambers his Mother and Lord Wawrick reside in without knocking. Lord Wawrick is standing near the table and his Mother seems to have been just about to walk out.

"Oh, Harry, sweetheart," she says, walking to Harry swiftly. "You look wonderful. How is my grandson doing?"

She tries to put her hand on his stomach but Harry steps away and hugs her instead.

"How do you know it's a boy?" Harry asks after pulling away.

"An old trick," Juliana grins, brushing a lock of long blonde hair out of her face. "The shape of one's belly. I will explain it to you one day but I have to be going now, my love. Bedwyr is expecting me and I am running late already. Have a good meal and please, give Nathaniel a chance."

Juliana kisses Harry's cheek and she's gone, a winter cloak and her long hair flowing behind her.

"Shall we begin?" Lord Wawrick says, two goblets in his hands.

Harry nods and walks closer to him, taking one of the goblets.

"An apology first," Lord Wawrick says before Harry sits down. "I am deeply sorry about doubting you. I have known you since the day you were born and sometimes I forget you are a man now, not a boy. You are a great King and I will not doubt you again. Not in private, not in front of anyone's eyes. I hope you accept my apology as it is coming from the depth of my heart and soul."

Harry knows a genuine word has never left Lord Wawrick's mouth. "I accept your apology."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Lord Wawrick bows his head before gesturing for Harry to sit down. The food is already on the table and Harry waits before Lord Wawrick takes the first bite and also the first sip of wine. He doesn't trust him.

"The wine is French," Lord Wawrick says. "I only have it for special occasions."

Harry just hums noncommittally and sips his wine. It's good, he has to admit that. The food's from the castle's kitchen so it's nothing different from any other lunch.

They talk like they've never talk before - politely about meaningless things. The snow outside, court gossip that doesn't matter, the marriage of some Lord Harry vaguely remembers from Wawrick. It's strange and Harry feels like someone will pop out from behind the curtain and stab him in the neck. But three glasses of wine and a meal later, Harry leaves the room alive and well, with a handshake from Lord Wawrick which felt phony and weird.

Maybe Juliana has talked some sense into him. She's doing things that are not the best for Harry but she still cares about him. She wasn't trying to rob Harry off his throne, she just wanted him to have a child. Lord Wawrick... God only knows what his plans were.

Considering the time, he supposed that Zayn is training right now. And the training area is on the other side of the castle. Well, after a lunch, a long walk wouldn't be the worst for him right now.

Harry gets to the wing of the castle where the training rooms are when his head starts spinning. It must be the wine he thinks, leaning against a wall with his left hand. It's not getting better, the spinning turning into pulsing pain in his temples. His heart starts racing when he feels sharp pain in his belly. His knees start to get weak and it's not long before his vision goes completely black and he falls down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please if you enjoy this, let me know in the comments or on Tumblr @insomniacicarus


	25. Pennyroyal

_December_ _1485_ , _Windsor_ _Castle_

 

Zayn has been training for an hour at this point. He's been ditching training this week because he'd rather sit next to a fireplace and kiss Harry until their lips hurt than swing a sword at his trainer. But he can't let himself get out of shape. That would be the worst since while it is peace now, it doesn't have to be in two months.

 

"Alright, swing that sword harder," Ben says. "Use your left shoulder too. Harder. Imagine I'm a nasty Frenchman trying to take over Calais."

 

"Ben, I'm half French," Zayn huffs. "Shut up with that tactic before my Mother hears."

 

"Oh, shit, yeah," Ben nods, taking a few steps back, his sword ready. "Alright, who do you hate?"

 

"I do not hate anyone," Zayn chuckles. "And I do not need this kind of motivation for train-fighting. Just tell me if I'm doing something wrong so I do not repeat the same mistake when there is actually someone trying to chuck my head off."

 

"Alright, Your Grace, got it," Ben nods.

 

"Ben," Zayn laughs, letting his right arm with the sword hang along his body. "Stop calling me Your Grace when we are training. It's ridiculous."

 

The door open suddenly, a breathless guard appearing in the doorway. Something is wrong.

 

"What is it?" Zayn asks wearily, not letting go off his sword in case there's an attack on the castle. He will certainly need it then.

 

"It's King Harry, Your Grace," the guard says.

 

Zayn feels like the entire world stops spinning. "What happened? Is he alright?"

 

"He- He seems to have been poisoned."

 

"Fuck," Zayn chokes out, dropping the sword. "Is he alive?"

 

"He is, Your Grace," the guard nods. "But he is unconscious."

 

"Where is he?" Zayn asks. "Take me to him."

 

"He is in his chambers. Your Mother is there. She found him in the corridor in this wing."

 

"God," Zayn breathes out, already walking out of the door. The guard is walking quickly and Zayn matches his stride. He can't process his thoughts right now. Poisoned, who the fuck could have done that? He doesn't even know what Harry did today because they're not talking. And now Harry might die and they didn't even make up. Fuck, this is bad. Zayn just hopes Harry will survive this without any lasting consequences.

 

Zayn will never forget the chilling sight of Harry lying in his bed on his bad with his arms along his body. He looks like a corpse but when he's closer, Zayn sees the rise and fall of his chest. The physician is there, along with some servants and Melisende. Zayn ignores them all and goes to the side of Harry's bed, sitting on the edge carefully and gently taking Harry's hand in his. It's warm, still so warm with blood flowing through his veins and that's all that matters right now.

 

"What happened?" Zayn asks hopelessly, turning his eyes to the physician.

 

"Well, Your Grace, the King has been poisoned," he says quickly. "We are trying to find the source and what kind so we can treat him as fast as we can. The King should be alright because he seems to be stable, his breathing is not erratic and he has not broken out into a fever but we are worried about the child since there has been bleeding."

 

"Bleeding?" Zayn breathes out. "Then why are you all standing around doing nothing?!"

 

"Because they are not listening to me," Melisende says, her tone almost bored. "I told them that it was Lord Wawrick but they are searching my chambers instead. Now that nasty snake has the chance to run away."

 

"Are you seriously trying to considered my Mother as a suspect?" Zayn lashes out, looking around at the room full of guards and the physician's people. "Start searching Lord Wawrick's possessions right now and lock him up immediately. And if he has already fled, search for him. That is an order."

 

Half of the guards leave the room quickly, their armour clanking. Along with them goes a few of the physician's people.

 

"Your Grace, the King had breakfast with your Mother and afterwards fainted," the physician says.

 

"Yes, but then he also had lunch with Lord Wawrick in Lady Juliana's chambers," Melisende intercepts. "You are out of your job the second Harry wakes up. And if you do not save the child in time, your faith ends on the gallows, do you understand me?"

 

The physician nods weakly and retreats to the far end of the room to mix some medicine or whatever he does.

 

Zayn knows Melisende has poisoned quite a few people, even in this castle but she would never hurt Harry. The physician wasn't wrong to assume that Melisende was behind this, but not in this case. It is suspicious that she found him but it could not have been her. Zayn knows his Mother, he knows she can be cruel and evil, but never to someone that Zayn loved. Even with her threats when the war was still going on, he knew that all of that were just words. Harry was not in danger because of Melisende, certainly not since Zayn met him.

 

"Mother," Zayn says quietly, his hand still not letting go off Harry's. "What happened?"

 

"I had breakfast with Harry this morning," Melisende says as she walks closer to Zayn. "We talked and he got a letter from his Mother that Lord Wawrick wants to have a lunch with him to apologise, apparently. And he decided he would go. Then when I was walking to my chambers from my lunch date, I found him in the corridor. He could not have been there for more than five minutes because someone else would have found him.

 

"I was terrified that he was dead, lying there like that. But he is alive, very much so.But he will not wake up for some hours."

 

"How do you know that?" Zayn asks. He can feel tears prickling his eyes now.

 

"I know poisons, love," Melisende sighs. "He would have been dead already if the poison was given with the intention to kill him. This one... I think it was just given to him to kill the baby, not him."

 

"What?" Zayn breathes out, the tears now hitting his cheeks. "Why would someone do that? And why isn't he waking up?"

 

"Wawrick did it," Melisende says. "He wants to see himself on the throne, not Harry and you. With a child, you would both have strengthened positions and with the child born, he would have to get rid of more people. This was easier for him. And he is not waking up because of some sleeping draught mixed in, I suppose. When he is unresponsive, it is harder to save the child because he cannot swallow any antidote for the poison."

 

"Oh God," Zayn cries. "He is going to pay for this. I would go and cut him into a million pieces but I will not leave Harry's side until I know he is alright and he is awake."

 

"I know, love," Melisende says, running her hand through Zayn's hair as Zayn watches Harry's unmoving face. He thinks about how that face lights up with a smile, about the green of Harry's eyes that Zayn would kill to see right now. But Harry will be alright. He knows he will.

 

xxx

 

Some time later, maybe an hour, maybe a century, a guard comes back with the physician's assistants.

 

"We have captured Lord Wawrick, Your Grace," the guard announces. "We found the poison in his belongings."

 

"Thank God," Zayn says from his spot on the edge of the bed, his hand still holding Harry's. Harry hasn't woken up but he hasn't died yet either so Zayn's optimistic because he has to been in order to keep him sanity in check.

 

The guard leaves the room then and the physician with his little minions work with countless little bottles and other weird equipment. It takes them less than few minutes to come with the conclusion that Melisende has been saying all along.

 

"Your Grace," the physician warily approaches Zayn and Melisende, who is now sitting down in a chair near Harry's bed. "We found the components of the poison used on King Harry. I believe it is a simple sleeping draught in a large dosage along with some opium, but the main component is pennyroyal tea."

 

Melisende takes a sharp breath, touching her forehead. Zayn has no idea what pennyroyal tea is.

 

"What the fuck is pennyroyal tea?" Zayn asks the physician.

 

"It is what you drink when you want to get rid of an unborn baby," Melisende says before the nervous physician has the chance to answer. "And yes, it works even when the baby is just months away from being born."

 

"Oh, yes, that, just what Lady Melisende said," the physician stutters.

 

"Well, is there an antidote?" Zayn asks impatiently. "How long has it been? Two hours? How bad is it?"

 

"His Grace needs to wake up first so we can give him the antidote," the physician answers. "He could drown if we administer it to him while unconscious."

 

"For fuck's sake, can you wake him up?" Zayn says. "This must be dangerous for him. You must save his life if the child is beyond saving. At any cost."

 

"We will try to, Your Grace," the physicians says. "If the baby is dead, his blood could go bad and he could die. We want to avoid that."

 

"You have to avoid that!" Zayn shouts desperately. "You have done fuck all, all this time you have been just standing around. Get to work before your King dies!"

 

"Zayn," Melisende says then. "Let's leave for a moment, just to the sitting room. It's next door. Let them work."

 

Reluctantly, Zayn stands up. He touches Harry's cheek gently and Harry's still unresponsive. With one last look, Zayn leaves the room and prays for the best. He can deal with losing the child, but he would never recover from losing Harry. He could lose the whole world and he would be alright if Harry was still by his side.

 

xxx

 

Zayn sits on the sofa in Harry's own chambers for hours before the physician wakes Harry up. He thinks about their marriage, their love that hasn't had nearly enough time. Harry can't die. He just can't.

 

He's a literal ball of stress when one of the guards says that Harry's slowly waking up. Needless to say, Zayn shoots off from the sofa and into the bedroom.

 

"Your Grace, he is still bleeding," the physician says when Zayn walks in. With no regard to him, Zayn sits down on the bed again, grabbing Harry's hand in his. Harry isn't fully awake but he is moving slightly. Zayn feels a gentle grip on his hand and Harry's eyelids are waging a war to get open.

 

"Baby, please wake up," Zayn pleads. "I love you so much, just open your eyes. You can do it, love. Just open your eyes. We need you awake, babe."

 

"Your Grace, please, can you not sit on the bed," the physician says. "The doula is here to find out if the baby is still alive or not."

 

Harry opens his eyes then and Zayn feels like his heart can breathe again.

 

"Harry," Zayn says around a sob. He didn't even realise he was crying until now. "You are awake."

 

"Zayn?" Harry grunts. "What happened?"

 

"You-"

 

"Oh God," Harry gasps. "It hurts. It hurts so badly. What is going on?"

 

"Your Grace, move out of the way," the physician insists and Zayn then listens, walking a few steps away from the bed.

 

The room is in a hurry, everyone moving and talking too fast. Harry's crying now, repeating over and over again that it hurts while multiple people are trying to see what is going on with him.

 

"Does anyone know if the baby has moved yet?" the doula asks. Zayn's mouth falls open because fuck, he has no idea.

 

"Yes," Melisende says, surprising the whole room. "He told me today that it has been moving for a week."

 

Zayn looks at her in mild shock but his attention is quickly taken elsewhere when he notices all the blood on the bed, stark red against the white sheets. It looks like a murder scene but his husband lying in the middle of it is very much alive.

 

In that moment, Zayn decides to fuck all of them and he comes to the bed, kneeling down by the side of it and grabbing Harry's hand in his.

 

"Hey, love," Zayn says, trying to capture Harry's attention. "Look at me."

 

Harry does turn his head then, his green eyes full of fear. "Am I dying?"

 

"No, of course not," Zayn says, trying to smile through the tears. "You were poisoned and the baby... the baby is not fine but you are and that is what matters, alright? As long as you are alive and healthy, everything is fine."

 

"I don't want to die," Harry sobs. "I knew this would happen if I had a baby. I knew it."

 

"No, no, no," Zayn says quickly. "You are not dying. I will not let you. You are alright."

 

"It hurts so much," Harry groans. "So fucking much. I hate this."

 

Harry screams out of pain suddenly. "Why are you touching my stomach when it hurts? Stop it!"

 

After that Harry hides his face in the pillow, twisting his top half to the side. Zayn hears the doula says softly that the baby is dead and it's ready to get out. It sounds like a nightmare. He hopes Harry didn't hear.

 

"Love," Zayn says softly but loud enough for Harry to hear. "You are so strong and I love you more than anything. Do not be scared, you are fine. The baby is not but you are."

 

"Is it coming out?" Harry asks, his words muffled in the pillow and Zayn barely hears him. "It wasn't supposed to until April. Was I sleeping since December?"

 

"No, you weren't," Zayn says softly and pets Harry's hair as a weak attempt to comfort him. "You were asleep for a few hours."

 

"Oh God," Harry groans. "Please get it out. It hurts so much."

 

"Haz, listen to me," Zayn says as Harry grips his hand tighter. "Everything is going to be alright. Not alright, perfect. After the new year, we will cancel those visits around England and we will go to the continent. It will be just the two of us and we will finally have our honeymoon, yes? We are going to make love every single day and we will not have to sit in a single meeting until we come back home. I love you so much, you are so strong love. Get through this and we will have the time of our lives. Alright? You are alright."

 

"The baby...," Harry says, his voice pained.

 

"We will have another when you are ready. Do not worry. This happens. It's natural. Sometimes... babies don't make it. But you will.And one day we can have a big family, or not, whatever you want, love. I will always be by your side. You are so strong, love."

 

Zayn stops talking when he hears the doula say that the baby was a boy. So their firstborn would've been a son. It doesn't matter to Zayn though, as long as Harry is alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone, i am SO SORRY! they’re gonna have a baby, i promise, this just wasn’t the right time :/ let me know your thoughts here pr on Tumblr @insomniacicarus


	26. Aftermath

_December 1485, Windsor Castle_

Harry cries for an eternity. He can't focus on what all the people around him are saying. While he felt like his body was being ripped apart, the only thing he could hear was Zayn's voice. It guided him through this nightmare and he got to the other end. Zayn's holding him as Harry cries into his chest. It's loss, it's pain, it's betrayal. His entire body hurts, even the tips of his fingers. He can feel blood getting crusty and sticky and he feels like he just got off a battlefield, wounded and bleeding and barely alive.

"You are alright, my love," Zayn whispers before kissing the top of his head. "Everything is going to be fine."

"Our baby is dead," Harry mumbles. "I didn't- I know I didn't want him at first but I didn't want him to die now that he was here."

"It is not your fault," Zayn says. "Wawrick poisoned you, love. This was not your fault."

"I am going to kill him," Harry sniffs, finally takes a look over the room as he lifts his head off of Zayn's chest. "He had no right to hurt me like this."

The room is a chaos, with servants and maids running around. The doula and the physician are in the corner together. When she notices that Harry's not crying anymore, she gives him a sad smile and comes closer.

"Your Grace, I am so sorry for your loss," the doula says. "We tried so hard to save the little Prince but he was not ready for the world yet."

Harry only nods, aware how terrible his face must look like after crying for so long.

"Would you like to hold him?" she asks then.

Harry goes hysterical. "Would I like to hold my dead child? No, fuck, I would not like that one bit. God, how could you even ask me that? Fuck. Get out. Actually, everyone please get out of the fucking room. Get the fuck out!"

When Zayn goes to stand up, Harry pulls him close to himself. "Not you."

Once the room is empty except for the two of them, Harry finally feels like he can breathe again. He takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes to gather his mind before opening them, determined to face the situation.

"Alright, what happened?" Harry asks Zayn, his hand still holding Zayn's wrist.

"You went to lunch with Wawrick, do you remember that?"

Harry nods.

"He poisoned you," Zayn says with a sigh. "The physician said it was just pennyroyal tea that is used to get rid of unborn babies and sleeping draught with opium to keep you unconscious so the baby could not be saved with an antidote."

"That fucking-" Harry huffs out a breath. "I knew he was acting too nice. He has never been this polite and nice to me. God, this is fucking disgusting."

There's silence then as Zayn continues to hold Harry. The embrace might be the only thing in the world keeping Harry together right now.

"You know," Harry says after a moment has passed. "I never felt like the child would live."

"What do you mean?"

"I just- Ever since I found out, I could not fathom the child being born and growing up. It felt like a dream, the whole time since the moment I found out. When I felt him move a week ago, I didn't... I did not know how to deal with it. I guess it was a gut feeling or a sign, I don't know. But I think it is better this way. God knows I would not have been a good father to the boy. When we have a child, we will be ready. I will never rush again. When we _both_ feel like it, then we will provide an heir."

"Why didn't you talk to me?" Zayn asks with a small shake of his head. "Love, all this could have been avoided. And you are not alone, you could have told me when the baby moved or how you felt. I am here for you, Harry, always."

"I know," Harry nods softly. "But I did not want to talk about it. I just wanted us to be... us and not parents already. I will never make these mistakes again."

"They were not mistakes," Zayn says. "Everyone deals with things a certain way. But they are not mistakes."

"Should we call the maids back?" Harry changes the topic. "There is blood everywhere."

"Are you in any pain?" Zayn asks.

"Not really," Harry says. "I am just... uncomfortable. But it should pass in a few hours. A bath might help."

The door opens out of nowhere and Harry spots Juliana speeding towards the bed.

"Oh dear Lord," Juliana gasps as she takes Harry's face into her hands. "Are you alright, sweetheart? I had no idea what that animal would do to you. Are you hurting? Lord, look at all this blood."

"Mother," Harry says, taking her hands in his and lowering them from his face. "I am alright. I am not in pain."

Juliana quickly touches his stomach with one hand. "How is the baby?"

Harry closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "There is no baby, Mother. He did not make it."

"Oh," Juliana quickly takes her hand back, tears falling down on her face as she moves to hug Harry. "I am so sorry, son. You did not deserve this pain. I swear to got I did not know what Nathaniel would do to you. I cannot believe he killed your baby and hurt you. I love you so much, I am so sorry for letting him come here. I will never let anyone hurt you, love. Never. I cannot even imagine what would I do if I lost you."

Harry lets Julianna cry into his shoulder for a bit, limply hugging her back. He looks at Zayn and mouths to him to tell the servants to draw him a bath. There is indeed quite a lot of blood because Harry didn't let them touch him after the baby was gone. Now it's dried up and crusty and he wants to burn this whole bed, not just the sheets.

Julianna keeps whispering how much she loves him and how sorry she is over and over again until a servant comes in with a robe for Harry, saying the bath is ready. Harry pushes of Julianna gently, quietly telling her that he needs to clean up and get himself together.

Standing up from the bed is shaky since he lost quite a lot of blood and his head is still spinning. The bottom of his long white shirt is bloody and so are his thighs. He covers everything with a robe and gets to the bath on his own, sending the maids that wanted to help him away until he's completely alone in the room.

He gets naked and tries to ignore the blood everywhere. Looking down at himself, he is slapped in the face with the realisation that even though the baby is gone, his belly still shows that there was one just a few hours earlier. It has gotten smaller only by a third so far. He needs to ask the doula how long it will take until his body gets to where it was.

The water calms him. It's hot and smells nice, which for a moment makes him forget what happened today. He scrubs off the blood at last and while cleaning himself, his hand stops at his belly. It's a bit strange, now that he knows there will be no more fluttering.

It hurts, but Harry knows that this is a blessing in disguise. He was not ready to be a father. The child never would have felt his love like he deserved to feel it. Harry's marriage is quite new and he knows that so many things would change with a child. Harry wanted to do countless of things before he had a baby and if this boy was born in April like he should've, he knows that he would have resented his decision to have him. Of course, Harry will mourn him and there will always that wondering in his head. What would the boy be named? How would he look like? Would he like reading or sword-fighting more? But the boy will never get the chance to give Harry answers to this.

It is what it is but there is one thing that needs to be the end for this painful chapter. And that is Lord Wawrick's death.

xxx

When Harry gets out of the bath, he puts on clean clothes and goes back to the bedroom. He's exhausted but he needs to do one thing first before he hides in bed for at least a day.

The bed that was bloody and rumpled is now made, not a speck of blood anywhere. One would not believe that this is the place where he painfully delivered his dead child just hours earlier.

"Could someone fetch me a sword?" Harry says to the servants milling around the room. "And one of those bloody sheets too."

"Babe?" comes from behind Harry. He turns around to find Zayn, too in fresh clothes.

"What is it?" Harry asks.

"Why are you not in bed? You have lost a lot of blood."

"Yes, but I need to do something first," Harry replies evasively.

"Are you trying to see Wawrick?" Zayn asks, coming close to Harry and touching his wrist gently. "Please, you have been through enough today. You need to rest. You should not even be walking right now."

"I do not care," Harry replies, taking his hand from Zayn's grip. "I need to do it now, while my anger has not turned to grief. Just... let me do it. I will feel better afterwards."

Zayn clearly doesn't want to entertain Harry's idea, but Harry is determined. Zayn's got worry in his eyes and Harry understands, he would feel the same if he was in his shoes. But this is what Harry needs to move on.

"Alright," Zayn says at least. "Do not be long. I will be waiting for you in our chambers, yes? And be careful, for God's sake."

"That is why I have to sword," Harry says as he takes the sword from the servant who just arrived and fastens the holster belt. "If he tries to touch me, he will have to pick his fingers off the floor first."

Harry snatches the sheet from the servant and makes his way into the castle's dungeons. It's quite a long walk and for a moment, Harry thinks he's gotten lost but he makes it at last. The walk exhausts him, bringing back some of the pain he felt hours ago. He ignores it, gritting his teeth as he walks the steep, dark staircase down to the cells. The main guard at the beginning of the corridor stares at Harry as if he was a ghost, but promptly bows and stammers a "Your Grace".

"Where is he?" Harry asks coldly. The guard doesn't need explaining.

"Follow me, Your Grace," he says, already walking into the long corridor of doors with small openings. In roughly the middle of it, the guard stops, jingling with a large set of key as he takes them off his belt.

"Are you sure you want to see him, Your Grace?" the guard asks warily.

"Certain," Harry answers. "Now open the door. Stay outside of it and bring another guard. But I do not think that old fuck could get past me even if he was forty years younger."

"Of course, Your Grace," the guard bows slightly and begins to open the door. As he cracks it wide open, Harry spots Lord Wawrick sitting on a low straw bed. He looks at Harry in shock, cowering into the corner.

Harry walks in confidently, looking down at him. Right as the door closes, Harry spits at him.

"You will be dead before you know it, Nathaniel," Harry snarls. "I have never seen such audacity in my whole life. You are going to burn in hell for this."

"I did not want to kill _you_ ," Lord Wawrick says quietly, his tone deadly. "You did not want the child. I was doing you a favour. You should be thanking me. I would have helped you rule but you are stupid, just like your Father."

"Leave my Father our of your dirty mouth," Harry says. "You _murdered_ my son. Do you think I would ever let you live after killing the Prince of England? You killed my child before I even had the chance to hold him."

Harry throws the sheet at Lord Wawrick. "Here. There is my blood as a reminder for what you did. I do not have a lot of hope that you have some conscience and that you can feel remorse and regret. But try to think about it while you rot here before you die. About the pain I went through. About the dead child we have to bury. About the pain you caused my Mother too. You are a traitor and a snake. I despise you.

"I want you to know that you did nothing with this. My son might have died but you did not break me. The only thing you did was sign your death sentence. I will continue to rule and one day, my child will sit on the throne while you rot in the ground. You accomplished _nothing,_ just as you _are_ nothing."

Harry takes out a dagger he always keeps in his boot. "Stand up. Try to face me like a man, you coward."

Lord Wawrick struggles to get up but he does stand in front of Harry at last. "Are you going to kill me?"

"No," Harry replies calmly and he stabs Lord Wawrick in the bottom of his stomach. "I just want you to feel at least some of the pain I did. You will get over it. If I did, why couldn't you?"

Lord Wawrick staggers back, the dagger dug into his flesh. With one last looks, Harry turns around and leaves the cell.

"Call the physician," Harry tells the guards when he's in the corridor. "Do not let the bastard die. And send the dagger back to me."

The exhaustion bites at Harry's ankles, trying to drag him down into the abyss but Harry doesn't let it. He gets back to his chambers, dragging his feet behind him. With only taking his boots off, Harry lies in the bed, joining Zayn and letting himself be wrapped in an embrace. He got his revenge, at least a part of it. Now he can move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading :) you can find me on Tumblr @insomniacicarus or hit me up here in the comments


	27. Repercussions

_December 1485 - Windsor Castle_

Lord Wawrick's execution is scheduled five days after the poisoning incident. He survives the stabbing, barely but he does. Melisende orders torture for him too and Harry doesn't ask about the details. He's glad Lord Wawrick is suffering before he dies. It's just simple karma for the years of manipulation and hurt he's caused over the years. Ever since Harry's Father had died, Lord Wawrick basically ruined his family. Now he attempted the very, very new family Harry has created himself and for this, he cannot keep living any longer. Such a vile person doesn't deserve to walk the Earth.

The five days until his death, Harry doesn't really leave his and Zayn's chambers. Thankfully, he is not in pain but he dreads hearing the court gossip and the pitying looks of courtiers. He doesn't need to be reminded every single moment that he lost a child. He's quite aware, thank you.

Julianna is in a state of shock. She barely eats and after a day, she stops coming to Harry's chambers and stays in her own, looking out of the window and crying. Harry visits her once and she goes nearly hysterical, saying how she regrets ever marrying Lord Wawrick. She blames herself for this. Harry won't tell her the truth, that she is responsible for it in some degree, but how could she know that her husband would try to poison his own step-son, not that Harry considers him a father figure. He's always been just the man that tried to win the English throne for Harry and he married Harry's Mother. That's all he's ever been to him.

Harry tries to move on, regardless of the damage and chaos. If he shuts himself out and becomes a recluse, Lord Wawrick will succeed. He needs to rule, he needs to make decisions for the country and he needs to be happy. And that's what he tries to do.

Even if he doesn't leave the chambers, he starts working again after two days. He sits with Zayn in their study, looking over documents and signing whatever needs to be signed. They plan a visit to the Scottish King in February and then they will embark on a journey to Europe for a few months, which will be a honeymoon and business travel all in once. Zayn promises Harry to show him the castle that Melisende grew up in and the land around it that's French but belongs to Melisende and one day will belong to them. Now that's a war in the making but it's not a bother right now.

The morning of Lord Wawrick's execution, Harry wakes up with his head on Zayn's naked chest. He listens to his heartbeat for a while, until he feels Zayn wake up as well.

"Good morning, my love," Zayn says, his voice thick with sleep. "Have you been up long?"

"No," Harry says, the tips of his fingers drawing patterns on Zayn's skin. "Just a little while."

"How are you feeling?" Zayn asks, his hand coming to stroke Harry's hair. The execution is hidden in the question.

"Not bad," Harry says, continuing after a beat. "Strangely enough, now that he's gone, I sort of miss the baby. I did not even like him before. I did not want him. I hated it a little. But now, I keep waiting to feel that little fluttering again. But there is nothing."

"Love...,"

"No, I am fine," Harry adds. "I think my mind is trying to trick me in order to cope with the loss. It's like when people lose a limb and then they feel it, like a ghost. I think I am going through a version of that right now. But I am alright. I promise."

"I love you so much," Zayn says, kissing the top of Harry's head. "Thank you for telling me. I'm glad you told me instead of keeping it inside."

"Thank you for being with me all the time these past days," Harry says, lifting his head so he can look at Zayn and kiss him properly. "It helped me a lot. Having you here. Knowing that no matter what, I have you. I love you."

"Of course, love," Zayn smiles, kissing Harry quickly. "You don't need to thank me, I love you and you are my husband, being there for you must be a certainty."

"Still," Harry shrugs. "Even back when... you know what. You kept talking to me. And I feel like I would not have survived it without you."

"You would have," Zayn affirms. "But I am glad that I could help, in any way, no matter how small."

"I cannot wait to leave this castle for our honeymoon," Harry smiles. "We deserve the rest after a life-long war and all this chaos now. I'm just worried someone will fuck up the country while we're gone."

"My Mother will not let them," Zayn says with a chuckle and Harry knows he's right. "While she's here in our absence, England will be just fine."

"She is like Cerberus," Harry laughs. "But beautiful and _slightly_ nicer."

They laughs for a moment until silence falls again. Harry hides his smile in Zayn's neck, feeling the happiest he's felt since the poisoning.

"You know," Zayn says after minutes. "While you were unconscious and they were trying to wake you up, I was praying that you survive. And I felt cruel later because I did not even think about the child. Like... you looked almost dead, I swear to God my heart stopped beating when I saw you lying in that bed. And I would have killed an army myself if it meant you would survive. Then you woke up and you were in so much pain, I just- I was cursing us for trying to have a baby. Because if we did not, none of that would have been happening to you."

"Love," Harry says, lifting himself up a bit and touching Zayn's cheek. "You are not cruel. You are the most kind person I have ever known. In that moment, you were worried about me the most because I am your husband. We lay to bed together every night and wake up too. Our son... he was not born yet. And I was ignoring everything and pretending like he was not there. Neither of us loved him like we should have and it's a sin. The only way we can repent for it is that we love our next child with everything we have."

Harry gives Zayn an encouraging smile because regret and sadness is not the way to move forward. He places a small kiss on his lips and sits up in the bed, keeping the smile on.

"Now c'mon, love," Harry says. "We have an execution to watch."

xxx

Lord Wawrick looks like a ghost of the man he used to be. He's brought to the executioner's block in the same bloody clothes that survive the stabbing from Harry. He's pale, dirty and weak.

It's not snowing anymore but everything is still sheeted in white and the cold is biting through their clothes. Harry is standing with Zayn at the very front, Melisende near them with a look that would bring even a King down to his knees. Julianna is nowhere to be seen.

"Nathaniel Neville, 16th Earl of Wawrick," a voice of one of the judges booms. "You are hereby sentenced to death for the murder of the unborn Prince of England and a deadly attempt on the life of King Harry. You have no right to any last words. The crime you committed was heinous and vile. You are a traitor and you will be treated as such. May you burn in hell."

The executioner lies Lord Wawrick down on the block. Lord Wawrick's kneeling down, the head on that faithful piece of wood. He closes his eyes, waiting for the first hit.

It takes seven whacks to get his head off. It's surely painful. Melisende made sure that they used the worst executioner available with a dull axe so Lord Wawrick suffers before his head is off his neck.

The satisfaction doesn't really come. Harry's seen guts and blood and decapitated heads before. This is no different. But at least he know that the threat this man posed is eliminated. No one trying to hurt Harry could ever get this close again.

"We should have organised a celebratory feast," Harry says dully before turning around and leaving the courtyard.

xxx

_January 1486 - Thornbury Castle_

Christmas and New Year pass in a blur. There is work and court activities and visits to London and some small cities nearby. Christmas for a royal is basically a shitload of work. But things are moving forward. Julianna stops hiding in her chambers and Harry can finally see, after years, the old kindness she had when he was a child. Without Lord Wawrick around, she doesn't try to talk Harry into things and with the baby only recently passing, she doesn't try to bother him with heirs either. She's not her usual cheerful self but Harry thinks she will get there in a few weeks.

Harry starts training again and the feeling of a nice and heavy sword in his hand makes him forget these entire past months. If he tries hard enough, he's sixteen again, sparring with his trainer in Wawrick with no worried on his mind. But the reality is different and despite the pain, it's better because he usually doesn't train with his trainer but with his very handsome husband who kisses the hell out of him at the end of training when they're both sweaty and shirtless. His stomach is flat again and the abs are making their reappearance too. Each day that passes he thinks less about the fluttering and twitching. Life goes on and the pain retreats.

For Zayn's birthday, they go to Thornbury for a little retreat. They needed a little time away from court, at least for ten days.

Harry didn't really know what to get him so he settled on jewellery, a sword, books and a painting that he gave Zayn back in Windsor but last night was more experience oriented. They went hunting early in the morning, just the two of them and the hounds that lived at the castle. It wasn't a royal hunt in the slightest, with dozens of people and big dinners and basically measuring cocks with the number of prey killed.

When they got back, the staff at the castle found the animals they killed while the two of them enjoyed each other's company. They took a hot bath together, giggling as water splashed out with every single movement and then had lunch in their chambers. While Harry wanted them to do something _social_ in the afternoon, Zayn's very persuasive and they didn't end up leaving the bedroom until dinner. And after dinner, that was the second part of Harry's gift.

They made love for the first time since they lost the baby. It was too gentle for Harry's liking but he understands that the situation didn't really stir up the desire to fuck hard in them. The entire act was nearly boyish, as if they were just learning what to do with each other, like they haven't been married for more than half a year. But it was an experience that made them grow a bit, as adults and as partners. It thought them about boundaries and about pure, untainted love. That is the basis of their relationship. Their love comes above everything. It's unconditional, unshakable and unbreakable.

"Did you like last night?" Harry asks Zayn as they walking in the snow the morning after, the hounds running around them with their tails waggling.

"I loved it," Zayn smiles, taking Harry's gloved hand in his. "I love _you._ Best birthday ever."

"Do you realise that we have known each other for nearly exactly a year?"

"What a year it was," Zayn chuckles. "So many things happened. But I am glad that I experienced all of them with you."

"I wonder what will our life look like in a year," Harry says, leaning his head on Zayn's shoulder as they walk slowly through the snow. "I tried to picture it but everything is just so unpredictable. Our lives are planned to the smallest detail and yet nothing ever goes according to that plan."

"We will be together," Zayn says assuredly. "That needs to be a constant in our marriage. When we are apart, we are more vulnerable and susceptible to danger. As Kings, we have more enemies than we can even imagine."

"Ugh, love," Harry groans, smacking Zayn's chest playfully. "Stop being so negative. Is it the old age?"

"Sweetheart, you are turning nineteen in like two weeks as well," Zayn laughs. "What are you gonna be saying when we are thirty?"

"God, that is so far away," Harry argues. "Please, do not remind that we are ageing. I want to stay young forever."

"I will feel young forever around you."

"Great, now you are being cheesy. Why did I marry you again?"

"Because you love me?"

"Yes, I guess, that would be it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) please, let me know how you like this :) you can hit me up here in the comments or on Tumblr @insomniacicarus


	28. The Unknown

_(all the dialogue is spoken in French unless Zayn and Harry are talking to each other or other English people, I just didn't translate it so the reading was easier :) )_

_March 1486 - Chateau d'Amboise, France_

Arriving at the French Royal court seems less grand than gracing the gates of Windsor and taking your carriage along the miles-long path leading to the castle gates. This chateau is pretty, not fortified in a visible way and clearly not meant to be a fortress.

To be honest, Harry doesn't really care, he's just tired and wants to sleep. It's the very, very early morning and they've arrived earlier than expected. With the sun barely poking out of the horizon, Harry's certain the King nor the Queen will be waiting for them to welcome them as it is fit with other royals. It's not like he will be mortally offended. He doesn't even feel like seeing the King now.

After the draining visit at the Scottish court in Edinburgh, Harry wished they had the foresight to plan a little vacation before throwing themselves into another royal visit. England is safe in Melisende's hands, along with their trusted Privy Council. There's nothing to be worried about since their throne is safe and to their knowledge, no one's planning a war against them. They're like saints, really.

As expected, they're greeted by some maids and servants, along with a few courtiers and ushered to their rooms for the duration of their stay, excusing the King and Queen because they had other matters to attend to. Harry was honestly too sleep deprived to pay attention to what was said on their way through the chateau's long hallways.

They sleep for a few hours, the blissful ignorance in the dream realm being cut short by Peter, Harry's squire who knocks on the door and wakes them up, maids at his feet, saying the King will want to see them today and they can't be sleeping all day.

"For fuck's sake, we're Kings _too_ ," Zayn complains as he finally gets out of bed, long minutes after Harry. "Just because this is his court doesn't mean he can treat us like some peasants. God, if my Mother wasn't French I would've had a nasty word with the King but then she would have a rather nasty word with me and no self-respecting person wants that."

"Aren't you joy in the mornings, my love?" Harry chuckles. "We should be nice because as far as the stories go, King Pierre is like a petulant child and we don't want to wage a war with the said petulant child just because we adopted his attitude."

Zayn goes to the washroom with an eye roll, really slacking since Harry's already fully dressed. He decides to start writing a letter home while he waits around for breakfast, getting down at least the basics about them getting to court safe. He'll need to actually meet the royal couple to say anything more.

Some minutes later, there's a knock on the door, a French voice saying " _Breakfast, Your Highness."._  A slight maid comes in with two more servants, carrying trays and a trolley with additional sweets and pastries. They start laying it all down on the table in the sitting part of the spacious chamber, covering every available surface. It seems like the King doesn't want to be seen as frugal.

"Thank you," Harry says in French. "Has anyone told you when the King wants to greet us properly?"

"No, Your Highness," the maid replies. "Perhaps in the afternoon. The Queen will not grace you with her presence, unfortunately. And the King is very busy also."

"Why?" Harry asks curiously.

"She delivered a son this morning," the maid smiles, straightening her apron. "Did you not know?"

Harry swallows empty, trying not to let the words affect him. "No. We weren't told anything about this."

"Oh, I apologize, Your Highness," the maid flushes. "We all hope you will be around for the celebration of Prince Amaury. It is a very joyful time at court. He is the King's firstborn and already a boy."

"Surely," Harry tries to smile. "You're dismissed."

The maids and servants bow, scurrying out of the room with the swiftness of castle personnel.

Harry drops down at one of the chairs, staring numbly somewhere in the distance. It's impossible not to think about the loss of his own child. It has been just a few months since he had to wash off his and his son's blood off of himself and face the man that killed his unborn child. And now he's slapped in the face with the happiness of other royals, cheering for the birth of their firstborn son. Celebrating what a wonderful baby he is and what a good King he will be one day. And Harry will have to sit by and watch and smile at them like his heart isn't heavy with grief because while they have a party, he has a tiny grave he hasn't had the guts to visit yet.

It's been too little time since he had Helen crying in his chambers, cursing herself for not doing something about Warwick and his Mother too, blaming herself for all of it. Now Harry curses himself for not paying attention to these kinds of news. He faintly remembers hearing about the French Queen being with a child, back when he was too but he cared more about whether the French fleet was building more ships a year than the English one. Since then, he assumes no one told him about the news because it would've hurt him and they were right.

"Haz?"

Harry shakes his head a little, slapping on a fake smile for his husband. "Finally. We've got food."

"Are you alright?" Zayn asks as he takes a seat opposite Harry. "You looked quite... flabberghasted."

"Oh, it's nothing," Harry tries to dismiss it. "The Queen had a son early in the morning. I was just surprised."

"Love," Zayn says and Harry feels his hand on top of his. Harry's forced to look up from his plate, seeing the worrying look on Zayn's face he both loves and hates. "You don't need to pretend like everything is fine. I can see you're troubled."

"It's alright, really," Harry says resolutely, sliding his hand from bellow Zayn's and starting to pile food on his plate. "Things happen for a reason. Grief lingers for a long time but we have moved on, haven't we? There is time to fix things, to do it right another time. We have an opportunity to strengthen our alliances right now. If Warwick didn't almost kill me, we would have been sitting on our arses in Windsor albeit with a baby kicking in my belly but we would've been more miserable than we are now. I know that I would've been a proper pain in the arse because our son's death made me feel completely different about him and that wouldn't have happened just like that out of nowhere. I made some mistakes, I grieve my son but we can't change the past. Now, let's eat before we have to fulfil the things on our schedule."

Harry leaves Zayn stunned because this is the most he's said about the whole ordeal since the day of Warwick's execution. They both know the loss of their child was painful but in the long run, it wasn't a bad thing. For their reign, for their relationship, for the child too because he would not have been as loved as he could've been. If he was born, there was a chance they would not have any more children beside him and that is never a good thing for a King.

With breakfast in front of them, Harry acts like nothing happened. Nothing at all.

xxx

They see the King the following day, which is rather disrespectful, a child being born or not. Still, Harry tries not to be rude when the King greets them at a tennis court in the gardens, along with his mistress. When Harry sees the scene, he's certain the previous day, which he spent an exhausting amount of time chitchatting with French nobility and then getting drunk at a court party until he almost sat on Zayn's lap like a common whore, was miles better than this one.

"Ah, here we have the Englishmen," King Pierre says with a terrible, terrible accent. "Welcome to my court."

"Thank you," Zayn says in French, an attempt at a genuine smile on his lips. "We can speak in French, it is your court after all. When you come up for a visit to Windsor, then we can switch languages."

"That is fine by me," Pierre shrugs, swinging his tennis racquet around. His mistress has one too and she seems rather undisturbed at the presence of two foreign Kings. Is this actually rude or is it just how the French court works? Harry's quite unsure but he expected something slightly different. Perhaps an official welcoming audience and then a banquet like it was in Edinburgh and pretty much how it should be everywhere?

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Pierre laughs, pointing at his mistress with his racquet. "This is Nicola, my official mistress."

"Nice to meet you, Your Highnesses," Nicola bows this time, the racquet still in her hand. "We are grateful for your visit."

"Do you have your mistresses with you?" Pierre asks while picking up some tennis balls. Harry and Zayn exchange a confused yet amused look.

"No, we do not," Harry replies. "In fact, we don't have mistresses at all."

Nicola comes closer to them, giggling. Her cleavage nearly spills out of her dress. "Why is that, Your Highness."

"I married my husband out of love," Harry replies somewhat coldly. "I do not want to seek the embrace of another man or a woman because I do not care for them. I see it as a betrayal."

"Ah," Pierre finally straightens up, throwing the tennis balls one by one to a basket. "You two have quite the interesting story connected to your marriage. Ran off after a battle and got married in secret, wasn't it?"

"We stopped a war, didn't we?" Zayn says, narrowing his eyes at King Pierre. "We got a marriage out of love and peace, what more could we ask for?"

Pierre laughs coldly. "Oh, there is so much a King could ask for. Riches, land, power. Heirs, perhaps. Did you hear? My son Amaury was born yesterday morning. Which is why I also got Nicola here some months ago. The Queen was pregnant and I still wanted some fun."

"Aren't you the ever supporting husband," Harry grins sarcastically. "Congratulations. We will make sure to visit Queen Josette and give her our congratulations. We are very sorry we did not bring a gift for we had not known that you were expecting the arrival of your child around the time of our visit. But we will make sure to send something from England for the little Prince."

He's being too nice considering Pierre's behaviour but Pierre has been King only a little longer than them, they've no idea how he's going to react and creating political enemies, especially with France who just were warring with them not that long ago, would be suicide for their reign. It's better to act like meeting King Pierre with his mistress is completely normal than ruin England with a war with a stupid but a rich King.

"How kind of you," Pierre drawls. "Now, we shall have some fun. Who wants to play tennis?"

"Tennis?" Zayn asks.

"Of course," Pierre swings his racquet around. "It is fine entertainment and it also keeps you fit. We are all getting old, aren't we? Well, maybe you two are not since you are a few years my junior. Actually, I am quite fascinated by all that you two have been through."

Harry's blood freezes in his veins. Great, now he will have to listen to Pierre jerk off about what a better King he is and the two of them. Fucking hell, why didn't they just go to the Vatican instead?

Pierre prowls around like an angry cat. "Your secret marriage was certainly a spectacle. Everyone was talking about it because there was the tale of great love and of great foolishness too because most people thought one of you would wound up dead soon. That obviously didn't happen. And then the excitement about the heir which was followed by the unfortunate poisoning by your very step-father, Lord Warwick. Such a tragedy. I am very glad to see you did not let that ruin you and you are being good Kings. I will gladly be an ally of yours. Europe will be better with young rulers with a new outlook on the world."

"Are we here to recount our life stories or play, King Pierre?" Harry asks, his voice cutting. If they were sparring, he's not sure if he would keep himself from cutting off King Pierre's head.

"Oh, surely play," King Pierre stumbles over his words. "Shall we?"

"Please," Harry grins at him and tries to control his annoyance. Nicola gives him her racquet and Harry stands opposite the French King. He's not the best at tennis but he's determined to beat this stuck up cocky arsehole. No wonder the French are always at war with someone when their country is lead by fucktards like this one.

xxx

"Can you fucking believe what just happened?" are the first words that Harry says once they're back in their chamber.

"I can't," Zayn says, taking off his jacket and throwing it somewhere in the general direction of the sofa. "It's like... I don't even know. I was aware that Pierre was eccentric but this was outright insanity. In what world do you talk to visiting Kings like that? He was terribly rude."

"I know, right?" Harry sighs as he drops on the bed. "He had his mistress with him! While his Queen is recovering from giving birth! I'm surprised he didn't try to teach the baby tennis today as well."

Zayn laughs and joins Harry on the bed. "I've no idea what to think about him. Was he just genuinely trying to have fun? Is he insane? Was this actually just a ploy to get information from us in an informal setting? I am so confused."

"I think he has a cunning side to him," Harry says. "He is rude, selfish and self-serving but I do not think he is stupid. Lord, I wanted to have a sword at me so badly and just... hit him to see how he would react. But then we'd have a war at our hands and my momentary satisfaction of embarrassing him isn't worth it."

"You beat him at his precious tennis though," Zayn presses a kiss into Harry's neck and Harry can feel the smile pressed into his skin.

"That I did," Harry chuckles. "It was funny, seeing his face and him getting all dismissive. He's too used to playing against Nicola who, even if she was the best player in the world, would let him win each time since they're fucking."

"God," Zayn groans. "What was that bullshit about mistresses? When you were playing with Nicola he asked me how I survived without a mistress when you were with a child. It's insane. The man thinks about his cock first then his mistresses and then his Kingdom."

"Let's not talk about that dickhead," Harry turns to Zayn, grabbing his face and kissing him. " _I am_  thinking with my cock now and it wants attention. Loads of it."

"Huh, does it?"

"Yes," Harry grins and pulls himself up into Zayn's lap.

"Guess we have to do something about it before you snag one of Pierre's mistresses."

"Guess so."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello, darkness my old friend!! I'm back! Have you missed me?
> 
> Zayn and Harry are in France and they won't be back in England for a few more chapters. There's gonna be some romance here too but Pierre will make an appearance again so I had to introduce him a bit more than I will the other European rulers they will eventually visit.
> 
> I can't guarantee very frequent updates because I will be working on other fics for an exchange but I want to finish this at one point or another :) Hope you liked this and please leave me some feedback so I know whether or not to continue writing this because it has been a while after all :D


	29. Blood Thicker Than Water?

_April 1486 - Chateau de Roquetaillade, Bordeaux, France_

Harry hasn't felt the relief like he did when leaving King Pierre's court many times in his life. They spent nearly a month there and Harry's surprised he didn't punch Pierre once. Because he certainly deserved it, especially for that time he tried to rope him and Zayn into some weird sex thing he had going on.

Not everything was terrible because the Queen was actually nice and treated them like fellow royals and not mistresses as her dear husband did. The little Prince was truly adorable and Josette paid attention to him, which isn't very common with Queens and Kings. At the wild parties Pierre throws almost every night, Harry and Zayn stuck mainly to her and some other courtiers, usually those that weren't Pierre's friends.

Now, they're about to meet Melisende's family. Which, quite frankly, terrifies the shit out of Harry because Melisende had to be raised by someone to be the horrifying, brilliant woman she is. Zayn assured him that his Aunt isn't nearly as headstrong and relentless as Melisende but knowing his mother-in-law, Harry has his doubts. Even if she proved to have kindness within her that surprised but also pleased him.

Melisende's ancestral home in Aquitaine is a beautiful chateau, built in an earlier fashion than the one where the royal court is held. They're greeted by Mariota - Melisende's sister, and her husband Gamet. Harry sees the resemblance, with the long dark hair and same sharp features. Mariota smiles exponentially more than Melisende does and she greets Harry like he's been coming up for visits since he was a little boy. She gushes over how handsome the two of them look together as a royal couple and Harry only smiles because, yes they do look handsome together.

Instead of retreating to their rooms, they decide to take a ride outside because it's absolutely beautiful, the weather warm and welcoming and Harry's pretty curious about the place Melisende comes from.

"I haven't been here in so long," Zayn says when they're sometimes outside the castle walls. The nature around is indeed beautiful, with tall trees and enchanting clearings scattered throughout. 

"Really? How long?" Harry asks. Their horses are galloping leisurely since they're not rushing anywhere, just trying to take in the surroundings.

"Maybe four years?" Zayn replies, his eyes watching the trees they pass by. "My Mother used to send me here every time she knew there would be a battle. And every summer just to be here and study if I weren't at an abbey or something."

"I had no clue you spent so much time in France."

"Well, my Mother kept the fact well hidden," Zayn sighs. "And I haven't really talked about it with you. Just a story here or there."

"Did you miss it?" Harry asks curiously.

Zayn's silent for a bit, still not looking at Harry. "Perhaps. It's a beautiful place."

"You know," Harry starts, trying to keep talking when he sees that Zayn's not really in a chatty mood. "When I was little, I had a cat. A fat thing that was lazy as hell. He always just slept on the window in my bedroom, flapping his tail around. But when he started running around, no one could ever catch him until he let himself be caught. One time, he scratched me so hard I cried for an hour and my Father-"

"Harry, I need to tell you something," Zayn says suddenly, finally looking at Harry again. He has a grim expression on his face and that's never a good thing.

Harry stops in his tracks, stopping his horse, his blood freezing up. His heart is beating so fast he can feel it in his throat, his hands are shaking on the horse's bridle. This can only mean bad news.

"What's going on?" Harry asks cautiously.

"We haven't talked about the line of succession if we do not have heirs," Zayn says then, his eyes dropping to his hands on the reins.

"No, we have not because it's pointless since we will have children," Harry says, trying to sound confident. He's sure he doesn't because there are too many uncertainties.

"Yes, I know," Zayn says, sighing as he looks back at Harry. "It just... it does not sit right with me that you didn't know this."

"Did not know what?" Harry asks with an attempted chuckle.

"If we die and the throne is empty, it will go to my cousin Mathieu," Zayn says.

Harry's slightly confused why Zayn seems to act like it's the end of the world. "Alright? It is not anything out of the ordinary."

"You don't know him, Haz," Zayn sighs, kicking the horse into motion again. "You'll see at dinner. I am telling you this because I want it changed. This is not the way it is supposed to be. My Uncle John should be the next in the line of succession, after us and our children. This... this is something that unfortunately slipped under my Mother's nose a few years ago."

"Hold on," Harry says, stopping his horse again. "What are you trying to say?"

"My Aunt snuck her fingers into the line of succession at some point during the war," Zayn says, looking right at Harry. Then he starts riding again, Harry quickly following him to catch up.

"This is me warning you about tonight," Zayn says when Harry catches up with him. "Neither I, neither my Mother have an idea when she managed to do it. But it must have been when my Father was still alive."

"Then we will just change it when we get back," Harry says with faux optimism. "And hope they don't poison us tonight."

"They would not because my Mother would have them killed," Zayn sighs. "And we need to fix this in secret. No one can know. No one except you, me and around three people knows this."

"How did she change it?" Harry asks then, shaking his head a little. "It isn't something any random relative could do."

"No, it is not," Zayn agrees. "My Mother thinks she was sleeping with my Father."

Harry's jaw drops. "What the fuck? How- oh Lord. How did Melisende miss that?"

"She was leading the war, even if she wasn't leading the army into battles," Zayn says. "And there was always a rivalry between the two of them. Back then, I assume, she thought that the war would end with both my Father and me dying. Since that did not happen, I think she will try to get Mathieu on the court somehow. My Mother will not let him. Aunt sent her a dozen letters begging her but my Mother insists that she can't let him stay there because it's too dangerous. But that won't be working for much longer because he will be seventeen soon and he will be no child."

"What are you going to do when she asks while we're here?"

"I do not know, lie to her?" Zayn shrugs. "What else is there to do? I cannot just outright refuse them. I will make something up. That we need them here to oversee this territory because we want it attached to England one day? Something like that."

"Why is every single royal family so fucked up?" Harry asks with a groan which surprisingly, makes Zayn laugh.

"I have no idea, Haz," he says with a smile, reaching over the gap between their horses to take Harry's hand in his. "Please promise me, that we will raise our children to be better than this because I will not be able to sit idly by and watch as they try to ruin each other's lives."

"Of course, love," Harry smiles. "People will always be arseholes but at least now we have the power to try and spread the message of kindness and peace. I am certain it will never fully work but we can at least try."

"I could truly not ask for a better partner than you, my love," Zayn says, kissing the back of Harry's gloved hand.

xxx

Harry meets Zayn's cousins Mathieu and Agnes that evening at dinner. Mathieu looks like a pompous arsehole and acts every bit of it, with his cocky teenage act. Agnes, who is older than Mathieu and roughly their age, is considerably more down to Earth than her younger brother. And judging by Zayn's wide smile when he sees her, she's probably much more pleasant to be around. 

With this new knowledge, Harry regards Mariota differently. Her smiles are just a mask she hider her cunning and plots behind, unlike her older sister who frankly doesn't fuck around with pleasantries and deception. She tries to throw around flatteries again but Harry just dismisses it with equally as fake smile as Mariota's.

When they're already seated, Harry and Zayn unfortunately at the opposite heads of the table, Zayn's Grandmother Clericia comes in.

"Ah, there's my favourite grandchild. Welcome back," she says with a mostly expressionless face and kisses Zayn's forehead, before sitting down on the only empty chair between her other two grandchildren. As the rest of the family, neither does she bother with English around them.

Harry warily looks around, feeling a bit lost since Clericia didn't even look at him. Should he introduce himself? Would that be an embarrassing thing to do as a King? Since she is Melisende's Mother after all and he doesn't want a proper chewing out at the dining table.

In the end, he opts for the good old fake cough to get Clericia's attention.

"Oh, dear child," Clericia exclaims, slapping a hand over her heart. "My old noggin. I forgot Zayn's a married man now. Welcome to the family. Harry, was it?"

"Yes," Harry says awkwardly, his face red with everyone's eyes at him and also because this old lady barely knows his name. "It is a great pleasure to meet you. And thank you. I have indeed felt welcome since our marriage."

It isn't the entire truth but Harry hopes Clericia knows her daughter well enough to see through his bullshit.

"Really?" Clericia lifts her brows, proving Harry right. "Has my daughter been nice to you?"

"Oh, she's been a wonderful mother-in-law," Harry says with an exaggerated smile. "She helped me a lot in the last few months, with everything that happened. And we feel more than safe with her guarding the throne until we get back from our travels."

Well, this is the truth. Even if Harry lived in fear for weeks when he and Zayn first got married that Melisende would murder him, she's been more supportive than his own Mother. When Julianna was locked in her rooms, wailing over what happened, Melisende was trying to make sure that Harry fully recovers from the poisoning and doesn't live with any consequences, other than what was already done.

"Well, that is Melisende," Clericia says with a wave of her hand. "She looks like she would rip your throat out with her teeth, and she could do it, but she has a kind heart somewhere deep inside her chest. Sometimes too kind but we all have our faults, don't we?"

"Yes, Mother," Mariota says, her signature fake smile on. "We shall eat and not-"

"Silence!" Clericia says, effectively shutting up her younger daughter who looks properly pissed about it but still keeps her mouth shut. "I am trying to lead a conversation with young Harry here. Gluttony is a sin. Can you not wait for dinner, Mariota? Must you be rude?"

"No, Mother," Mariota replies, her sight averted down, her lips in a tight line. She's obviously angry but she is not the one who has the word here.

"Good," Clericia nods. "Now we can eat. Thank God for silence."

It is so painfully obvious where Melisende got her attitude since she is just like her Mother. It's a bit surprising to Harry that Clericia described her as too kind for her own good but it might not be too far fetched because Harry was surprised by Melisende's kindness at one point in his life.

They all manage to lead a civil conversation all throughout dinner, chatting about politics and asking about their life in England. Harry notices Mathieu's arrogant attitude, with his remarks and eye rolls. Even Clericia's glare doesn't stop him from making fun of the French King and also loudly talking about a whore he saw in the town's tavern last night. What surprises Harry is that Mathieu's parents don't shush him and tell him to stop. He has no barrier and doesn't even bat an eye when Clericia calls him a "disgusting little punk". He just laughs. Anges looks like she's embarrassed enough for her brother and herself and Harry feels for her.

"And how is the court, my dear?" Mariota asks towards the end of dinner when they're already eating sugary french desserts. 

The question was bound to appear. Harry exchanges a look with Zayn, both of them ready to bullshit this conversation more than anything before in their lives.

"It is wonderful," Zayn replies simply. "There are so many people I am afraid we will have to start sending people back to their own estates."

Mariota laughs, waving her hand as if she was flirting. "I am certain you can find a little room for Mathieu. He is getting bored here and he needs to learn from such great King as you and Harry how to run a court because we are always trying to go forward here in Bordeaux."

It is such a cheaply veiled attempt to send Mathieu off with them to England that Harry would laugh if he was a rude prick like Mathieu.

"Dear Aunt, trust me I would love to have Mathieu at court," Zayn lies blatantly. "But we truly need him in France. It is an advantage to have him here where he can report that is happening in France and monitor the situation. Everyone knows the King is unpredictable and what better way to make him less unpredictable than to have Mathieu here?"

Mariota chuckles uncomfortably, seeing her plan isn't working. "But-"

"Oh, Mariota, stop it," Clericia moans. "He knows better than you. Who is the King, you or him? Besides, Mathieu would do no good there, just fuck the whores and make a bastard. Do you want that?"

"You have no faith in me, Grandmother," Mathieu sighs dramatically while his Mother is fuming, glaring at Claricia. As a cherry on top, Mathieu kicks his feet up on the table and leans back in his chair.

Claricia looks at his dirty boots at the table and then straight at Mathieu. "You have done nothing to prove to me that you are deserving of my faith."

An awkward silence falls upon the room as everyone dug into their desserts grimly.

"Did anyone have the profiteroles?" Harry asks suddenly, trying to get rid of the silence. "They were wonderful. We need the recipe for our court's pastry chef."


	30. Heading South

_( there are some real people - the Medicis and the Pope, but their depictions here are purely fictional, I just used the real names )_

_May 1486 - Zaragoza, Kingdom of Aragon_

After spending time with Zayn's family, their steps lead to the Iberian Peninsula to meet the King and Queen, ruling over Aragon and Castilla. Harry's eternally grateful for the opportunity to meet with a lot of Europe's most important leaders because this is a new era for Europe. The majority of thrones in Europe are occupied by young people, all of them barely older than Harry and Zayn themselves and they can show that England isn't the way it used to be. After a long and tiring civil war and also a war with France that had ended just a few years ago, they need to show that with them on the throne, there will be peace and not war.

The same sentiment is expressed by Catalina and Timoteo, the Queen and King of Spanish people. Their court is quite fun and both the King and Queen are pleasant enough to have fun with. One night after a play in Spanish that they didn't really understand and too much dancing for the amount of wine they've drunk, Harry and Zayn retreat to the gardens to watch the sunrise.

"It's so warm here," Harry sighs, pleased as he plops down on a bench, Zayn promptly following him and wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. "In England, it's probably raining right now.  I should have married off somewhere south."

"Really?" Zayn drawls, his hand suddenly on Harry's thigh. "So you would rather have warm weather than me?"

Harry opens his eyes and looks at Zayn with a smirk. "Who knows? Are you worth it?"

Zayn raises his brows, clearly ready for the unspoken challenge as he surges forward and captures Harry's mouth in a kiss, his tongue finding its way inside of Harry's mouth right away. Harry leans towards him, shifting to get slightly on his side and grabs the side of Zayn's face, pulling him even closer. Zayn grabs his arse from the side, trying to get them as close as possible. Harry's dangerously close to taking their cocks out of their pants when they hear footsteps on the gravel path and subsequent giggling.

Just as they pull apart, they see Catalina and Timoteo entering the little secluded area of the garden, their eyes widening when they spot Harry and Zayn on the bench by the fountain. 

"Oh, hello," Catalina says, her face flushes as she extracts her hand from Timoteo's grip. "We did not know you were here."

"It's alright," Harry says, he and Zayn too putting some distance between them. "We were just trying to see the sunrise."

"Oh, yes," Timoteo nods. "It is very beautiful."

There's such embarrassing silence as they all nod and try to smile at each other in this situation. Catalina is the one to finally break it after those few excruciating moments.

"Well, since we are here," Catalina says, coming closer and dragging Timoteo behind her. "I think we should tell you that we would be happy to be your allies. We want peace too. There are rulers in Europe who want more land but we do not want any more European land. We are more interested in discovering the world. If the Pope lets us."

"Thank you," Zayn says, a genuine smile at his face. "Too many lives were lost in these pointless wars. We do not want to go into a war unless it is absolutely necessary."

And an alliance is formed in a garden while the sun was rising above Zaragoza, between two royals couples who were seeking privacy for things far from being described as political.

xxx

Visiting the Pope is surely terrifying. Innocent VIII grants them an audience just as they arrive in Rome and they hope he won't have any complaints about their reign. Yes, he would've sent a letter or an envoy or done something already if he was unsatisfied but still, the paranoia is there. After all, they're asking him to officially recognize the new Plantagenet dynasty they revived with their marriage. They do not bear the name but their children will.

Thankfully, everything goes smoothly and the Pope even tells them that he likes them because they make him feel like he won't have trouble with England anytime soon which is arguably weird but still better than him not being happy about their marriage. They don't stick around too much and talk their way out of a celebration the Pope invited them to, claiming they just _need_  to get to Florence so he lets them go. What can they say, the Pope is a terrifying figure even if he's nice. No one with that much power over Kings and Queens is just someone you chat and party with like it's no big deal.

Florence is marvellous. It is arguably one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Especially the breathtaking Duomo di Firenze, which is simply enchanting. There is a new fashion, new art, a new way of thinking that Harry and Zayn are certain they will bring along with them back to England. Philosophers are saying they are trying to find inspiration in the old Roman and Greek philosophy. The same thing is said by the artists but their art speaks for them too with the beautiful marble statues everywhere that look just otherworldly. Even despite that, Harry does mutter "I hate to admit it but the French have better fashion. And haircuts," when Lorenzo de' Medici shows off his new red hat that looks like something an infant might wear. 

The Medici family welcomes them in their palazzo, immediately throwing them into neverending events and parties. They live and breathe politics intertwined with art and theatre and fun. Lorenzo de' Medici treats them like old friends, so does his wife Clarice.

"What are your plans for England?" Lorenzo asks one night during a private dinner with just them four.

Harry and Zayn exchange a slightly nervous look because they don't really have any grand plans for their Kingdom. 

"Well," Harry starts, putting down his cutlery. "We are focused mainly on peace right now. We ended a decades-long civil war and the Kingdom needs rebuilding. And there is also the question of an heir. Besides that, the main goal is perhaps to avoid any and all wars so we do not waste money and lives. England needs to step into the new era that we see around here. Florence is many steps forward and we have loved our stay here."

"Thank you," Lorenzo raises his glass as a sign of genuine gratitude. "How is the treasury? If you are in trouble, our banks are very well off. Do not be afraid to write us a letter or send a messenger if you want to borrow some funds."

"We are alright so far," Zayn replies. "But thank you for the kind offer. Having this option is very good. We are not sure whether there will be some resistance or not, with the change in power. My Mother is acting as the Regent right now and her letters have been positive the whole time we have been travelling."

"That is just swell," Clarice says. "And lest I forget, I need to send you off with some art. As a wedding gift, perhaps. How long has it been?"

"Our one year anniversary will be soon," Harry says, suddenly realising it himself. They've been so busy with politics and travelling that he almost forgot that their one year wedding anniversary is in just a few days.

"That is wonderful!" Clarice cheers. "I know just which painting I will have packed for you. And a sculpture too."

"Thank you, that is very kind of you," Zayn says.

"How was the French court?" Lorenzo asks suddenly over his wine glass. "You've met the King, yes."

The wine he's drunk already doesn't help Harry stopping the eye rolls because oh, did they meet the French King. Sometimes he wishes he didn't because the encounter only made him more confused than before.

"It was certainly interesting," Harry says, trying to keep his remarks respectful since he can't really trust anyone. "King Pierre is quite... free-spirited. Queen Josette was exceptionally kind and hospitable. She just had a son and yet she took the time to spend time with us, her guests."

Lorenzo hums. "I do not trust him. He acts like he is above everyone and still behaves like a complete fool. No sane man would want to do business with him. Or wage a war against him. He could ruin France."

Harry and Zayn are left speechless because they are definitely not used to someone speaking so candidly about a King. Especially someone of such highs status as Lorenzo de' Medici. Despite the shock, the dinner moves forward like nothing happened when Lorenzo washes his words down with wine and starts rambling about interest rates.

xxx

For their anniversary, they don't give each other gifts nor do they spend the day fucking in their bed. Instead, they walk around Florence all day long. It's too pretty of a city not to take the chance to see it up close. They dress like regular Florentians, announce that they will be in their rooms all day and then Peter helps them sneak out of the palazzo.

It's their little rendezvous, to pretend like they're not royals at all and walk around, kissing and laughing and forgetting that they have a country to rule over at least for a bit. Walking by the riverbank hand in hand despite the judging looks of some older, clearly overly religious townsfolk is pure magic.

They spend the afternoon on a hill in the city, where another of the Medici's palazzo is located, along with beautiful sprawling gardens that shelter them from the Italian heat. A lavish picnic is certainly in order and they sit under vibrant green trees with all kinds of flowers around them. Harry's certain he's never seen a place so beautiful.

"I can't believe it's been a year," Harry says later that afternoon as they lay on the array of blankets and carpets and pillows on the ground. They've undressed, leaving only their undershirts on because of the heat and they're cuddled together in the shade. "Everything was so uncertain. I thought your Mother would kill me. I wanted to, but I had troubles believing that we could get away with this."

"We did, my love," Zayn says, caressing Harry's cheek and looking into his eyes. Harry's sure he will never get tired of the sight. Even if they're old and ugly in many, many years. "I could never possibly be happier than with you. We have ended a war together and fought off countless other things but doing it with you was a joy."

"I'm so happy," Harry sighs, tears threatening to break free. "I have never been happier. I love you more than anything. More than all the stars and planet in the sky. More than the moon and its dark side. You are my anchor, my light in the darkness."

"I love you even more, Harry," Zayn says and presses a gentle kiss onto Harry's lips. "You are the best person I've ever met. No one could possibly try to compare to you in your beauty, your intelligence and your kindness. You have my heart and I never want it back because I completely trust you with it."

"Here's to many more years together," Harry whispers and pulls Zayn into a hug. He doesn't even need kisses now, just to feel Zayn against his body, their body heat seeping through the thin shirts and milling together. They stay like that despite the summery warmth, intertwined together like vines.

"You know," Harry says after long moments of comfortable silence. "Our son would have been more than a month old."

He feels Zayn tense up but Harry just hugs him tighter, trying to tell him without words that it's completely fine. "I was thinking about it back when we were visiting your family. The midwife told me that he was due in mid-April, no clue how she knew it so specifically but she has her ways. And then one night I just couldn't help myself but think about it. We made love and you were asleep but I couldn't sleep so I was thinking. So many things would have been completely different. We would not have been here right now. Maybe we wouldn't have been celebrating our anniversary at all because I would've grown bitter. We may never know what would've happened but... I just wanted to take this opportunity to say that our grief shall be over.

"We have cried, we have wondered what could have been but I feel like we need to let him rest in peace by resting our thoughts. I know there will always be a scar on my heart that will never disappear but I want to stop wondering. I want to stop looking back and start looking ahead. Can you do it with me?"

"Of course," Zayn replies quietly but with zero hesitation. "I want you to be happy, always. And his death was making you sad. I could see the faraway look in your eyes sometimes when people mentioned children, or back at the French court. It was not your fault and you deserve to be happy, my love."

Harry pulls away from the embrace and lays his hand on Zayn's cheek. "I am glad. And in some months, I want us to try again. Perhaps when we return home in fall. No one is pressuring me this time, it is completely my decision. We can both do it right this time."

"Alright," Zayn nods. "This is your decision, I am merely an onlooker. You always have my support, Haz."

"I love you," Harry whispers before kissing Zayn gently but deeply. 

And there in the shade of burning sun in Florence, in the midst of fragrant flowers, they spend hours upon hours kissing and gently touching each other. It's been a year since they made love on a beach, a year that was both wonderful yet hard. Now they are older and wiser, strengthened by tragedies and trials. Still, the love each other the same as they did, if not more.

 


	31. Summer Sun

_July-August 1486 -- Castello Marrone, Positano_

After Florence, they retreat to a small coastal town of Positano, not far from Genoa for what's supposed to be their long overdue honeymoon. Being English, they're not really used to this kind of summer heat but it's not unwelcomed. Without any official duties and meetings with royals and nobles, they can walk around the little town in just breeches and thin shirts all the time.

It's bliss. There are no other words for the beautiful town, the sea and the sheer peace around them. With letters coming from Windsor, Melisende and the Privy Council assuring them that everything's more than fine, they can enjoy living without worries for the first time in their life. They know it's a bubble that is going the burst the second they get on the carriage, ready to embark on their way home, but why tarnish the time with these thoughts while they still have it? 

They're staying in a new Castello on top of a hill, looking above the small colourful town. It's surrounded by beautiful gardens full of flowers and fruit trees where they often hide in the shade from the ruthless midday sunlight. They've gotten used to siestas in the afternoon and late mornings, enjoying breakfast without anyone knocking on their door to hurry up because they've got a meeting or other business to attend to.

Harry absolutely loves the market in town, mainly because of the people who are some of the nicest individuals he's had the chance to meet. The townsfolk are very welcoming and kind. After the initial shock of having royals in their little town, many of the old ladies sitting in the town's square started talking to Harry and Zayn like they were their long lost grandsons. They know all the latest gossip thanks to them, even though they have no clue who the gossip is actually about. This also gives them an amazing chance to learn the local language better, gaining at least some sense of fluency.

During a slow morning one day while they were strolling the small harbour, a few old gentlemen attempted to teach them how to fish which didn't go very well. Hunting is much, much more entertaining and requires less skill. Still, it was quite a fun thing to try.

The small town truly feels like paradise. Their Kingship doesn't really matter here and it surprises Harry how much happier he is when he doesn't have to run a country. From the church bells chiming every morning, lunch and evening, to the fresh fruits and fish on their table each day, it's a place that they will be leaving with a very heavy heart. The simplicity of this life here isn't something Harry thought he'd ever want but with no balls to attend to or any fancy parties to get drunk at, Harry finds that he doesn't miss them at all.

Court life is like a coin that never stops spinning. You don't get a single minute to breathe out and thousands of eyes are watching your every step. With being King, the whole country watches him and even though their reign has been short, it has exhausted Harry to the point where he sought silence like it was air that was keeping him alive. He hopes that these few months away from courts and intrigue and plotting will help him come back and rule again.

"What is the stupidest thing you've ever done?" Harry asks Zayn as they're walking through the cobbled narrow streets that create the little town. It's nearing the end of another beautiful sunset so the town is almost deserted. They're hand in hand and even this simple moment is like paradise to them.

"Stupidest?" Zayn wonders. "Marrying you, probably."

"Hey!" Harry nudges Zayn with his elbow, all faux offended. "I am serious."

Zayn turns to him with a cheeky smile, knocking their shoulders together. "I'm just joking. That was my smartest and best decision. But, really, the stupidest thing I've ever done is... getting drunk and riding a horse on the castle walls in Skipton."

"What?" Harry squawks, looking at his husband in shock. "How did you get a horse up there?"

Zayn clicks his tongue and laughs. "Very easily. There was a ramp because they were reinforcing one of the towers. I mean... the horse was probably traumatized and so were my mates who were convinced I was going to fall off and splatter on the ground like a nasty human meat stew. As I'm telling you this story now, I survived unscathed. Which is honestly a miracle."

"That is insane," Harry breathes out, shaking his head. "Does Melisende know?"

"Oh God," Zayn groans. "I hope not. She never said a thing about it but when does my Mother not know something?"

"The stupidest thing I did," Harry starts unprompted, "is sucking off a guy in a hallway and getting caught by Warwick."

"What?" Zayn breathes out. "What did he do?"

"Well," Harry shrugs. "He grabbed the guy by the hair and kicked him out and then yelled at me what a whore I am. Nothing out of the ordinary."

In hindsight, Harry should've been more careful with sleeping around. He always got caught sneaking into his rooms in the morning or people sneaking out of there. The maids knew all the gossip about him and were generous with it. Only when he was closer to being eighteen he realised that if he wants to be King, he should probably start keeping his cock in his pants more often.

"Oh, love," Zayn sighs and wraps his arm around Harry's waist. "That is why I never fucked around in the castle where my Mother was. She would have had some people whipped probably."

"Well, Warwick didn't do that thankfully," Harry chuckles. "Oh you know the cat story I started telling you in France? Well, my Father tried to train the cat after he scratched me, instead of punishing him. His name was Georgie, by the way. And you know what? He did train him! He used to go hunting with us. All the dogs were scared of him. Georgie was just ferocious after he lost all that belly fat. He died at around twelve years of age I think? During a hunt. Someone was drunk and mistook him for a fox. Poor cat."

As if on cue, they hear a meow to their left. At first, Harry thinks he's imagining it but then he sees a small calico kitten looking up at him with big green eyes, meowing again when their eyes meet.

"Oh my god, Zayn, look," Harry coos as he walks towards the kitten carefully. "Aw, she is so lovely. Come here, little one. Come on."

Harry squats down in front of her, outstretching his arm for the kitten to sniff his hand. He hopes she isn't feral because she is just so adorable. At least he thinks the kitten is a she. He has a feeling she might be a she.

"Come on, don't be scared," Harry says quietly, trying to lure the kitten in. She can't be more than three months old.

To Harry's surprise and pleasure, the kitten takes a few shaky steps towards him and smells his fingers like cats do. After she doesn't back down, Harry warily pets her little head with just the knuckle of his pointer finger, to which the kitten reacts quite well since she starts to lean her head towards Harry's hand. Then he pets her properly and she starts purring. With some hesitation, Harry decides to pick her up. He manages to do it without her running away or attacking him which is definitely a win.

"Oh my god, look at her," Harry coos quietly as to not alarm the purring kitten in his arms as he walks back towards Zayn. "She is so cute! And she is purring."

"Yes, she's lovely," Zayn smiles a little as he carefully pets her head. "I assume I will not be able to talk you into putting her back where you got her."

"Are you insane?" Harry yells in a whisper. "There is not a chance. I am taking her with us. Look how skinny she is! She feels like nothing."

"What if she has a mother somewhere?"

"I do not care," Harry says stubbornly. "She came to us. Just as I was telling a story about Georgie. It's a sign, clearly. I haven't had a cat since Georgie. They're good companions."

"Alright, she _is_  adorable," Zayn says when she yawns.

They return to the Castello with the kitty, ready to pamper her like a proper royal pet. From the streets of Positano, she will probably find herself on the English throne because one can never tell cats where to and where not to sit.

xxx

Harry will never not love summer mornings in this warm climate. Sun coming through the open balcony doors wakes him up each morning, ticking his face and he never minds, even if it's quite early.

This morning wasn't any different, as he got up from the bed and put on a silk robe, letting Zayn sleep, who just turned his back to the sunshine. He sits at a desk in the corner of the room by an open window, at first just watching the sunlight lightly illuminate the early waves with small boats scattered around them. Then, as every morning, Harry takes out his diary and starts writing. He's been writing down things in leather bounds empty books for years but now he really pays attention to every entry because he wants to remember every single detail of their stay here forever. Memory fades but ink doesn't.

He's joined by Possie, the stray kitten who was named after the very town she is from, who jumps on the desk and demands attention. After minutes of curling her tail around Harry's hand and butting her head against his cheek, she grows tired of it and returns back to her bed, falling asleep almost instantly. Harry's jealous of her easy life.

When he's done, Harry pads down to the bed again, taking off his rose and climbing under the thin duvet that's just the right thickness for August. He gently kisses Zayn's shoulder, then creating a path of kisses leading up to his neck. Zayn never likes mornings but with his husband's lips on him, Harry knows it's the best kind of waking up to keep the sour mood away.

"Wake up, baby," Harry whispers into Zayn's ear and starts exploring Zayn's body with his hand. "Come on, love. I'm terribly bored without you."

"I'm up," Zayn mumbles into his pillow but he is far from up.

"Fuck me," Harry says then, emphasising the words by biting Zayn's earlobe. "You can't fuck me if you're sleeping, love."

"That's an interesting proposition," Zayn says, his eyes now open as he rolls onto his back and pulls Harry down for a kiss. "But you have to do the work, it's way too early in the morning."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Fine, you lazy bum." He slings his leg over Zayn's waist, straddling him and putting his hands on Zayn's chest. They smile at each other then, exchanging a moment of sweetness.

"Did you get yourself ready before I woke up? What a slag," Zayn laughs. He runs his hands across Harry's thighs, then slapping his left cheek and gripping his arse fully.

"No, I didn't," Harry scoffs. "I'm fine from last night. I'm not so desperate that I'd be trying to get myself off while my very handsome husband is right next to me."

Harry reaches to the bedside table, balancing carefully, and grabs one of the oils there. He slathers his husband's waiting cock with it and then pushes two fingers into himself, just to make sure he's as ready to go as he feels like.

"Wait, Possie," Zayn says just before Harry sits down on his cock, ruining the mood. "Won't she jump at us?"

"No," Harry scoffs. "She is sleeping. Now shut up and kiss me."

After sitting down, the stretch delicious, just shy of painful, Harry bends down to kiss Zayn deeply. His hips start moving as they keep kissing, Zayn's hands on his arse. They're not very slow with it since it's just a quick morning thing before starting their day with breakfasts and going about their business.

They kiss the whole time, the few minutes it takes them to finish when they're gasping for air and muffling the sounds of pleasure as they can.

"I love you," Harry says quietly, kissing Zayn one more time and getting off of him. Zayn whispers the same words into his skin when he kisses the side of Harry's neck. They're on the verge of falling asleep again when Possie jumps in the bed, right in the middle of it and meows loudly, probably demanding breakfast. They burst into laughter and cuddle the cat, who despite her meows of protest starts purring the second Zayn starts scratching her chin.

Harry truly loves mornings in Positano.

 


	32. Home

_Fall - Winter 1486 - England_

Seeing the English soil after months is both joyous and bittersweet because they're leaving the peace and warm sun behind and once again facing their duties. The court welcomes them with a big celebration and an announcement of a tournament taking place in a few weeks to show how much England missed their Kings. Then it's just work, work and more work. It's not all bad because Harry finally gets back to training and he has his courtiers around again. 

Juliana isn't at court at the moment, instead, she's spending time by the sea with her distant cousin Catherine. And John, Zayn's uncle, finally got married because he had been waiting to be off the throne. Other than that, there aren't many changes at court. Meetings go as usual, letters are sent to various royals, the funds are counted and the peace is kept. Possie grows fond of the sprawling Windsor castle, finding herself right at home.

In October, the celebratory tournament brings in hundreds of people to court. Big tents and a tribune is built to make sure all the nobles are watching the games comfortably. The biggest hit is obviously jousting, with the best knights in the country participating to gain their five minutes of glory and a handshake from the Kings. Along with a prize of course.

It's the first proper tournament Harry's been to because when he was young, his family wasn't very welcome at the royal court, naturally, since they were at war with each other. So he's seen jousting and competitive riding and all of it, but never at this scale. And truth be told, the tournament is grand, there are people everywhere, their voices carrying through the distance for miles nearly. Music can be heard in every single place in and around the castle and there's so much wine and food the tables are heaving with it.

After a quick breakfast in their chambers, Harry and Zayn are ushered out to officially start off the games. The fanfares sound off and the games may begin. They watch all of it from their neat spot on the tribune, sitting in comfortable thrones unlike all the other people around on basic wood. By midday, Harry's a bit tipsy because his wine goblet keeps somehow magically refilling itself and also doesn't seem to leave his hand.

"Love," Harry asks Zayn sometime during a break between disciplines, in that rare moment when there's no one bothering them and asking for favours like noblemen tend to.  "Shall we try jousting?"

Zayn looks at him with an amused look and sips his wine. "You're drunk. You would fall on your arse the second you sat on a horse."

"No, I would not," Harry scoffs. "I am perfectly sober."

As to prove his point, Harry stands up to show off how not drunk he is. The second he gets to his feet, his head starts spinning and he falls back on the throne with a huff, thankful he didn't end up plastering in the mud on his face in front of all the important people in England.

"Alright, I am drunk," Harry mutters defeatedly. "But the next time there's a tournament, I want to joust one of these pompous cocky knights."

"Haz, that would be extremely rude," Zayn says, an amused smile on his lips. Harry doesn't know what's so funny. 

"Why?"

"Because this tournament is to let these men show off and get a few gold coins. And for everyone to get spectacularly drunk and spread praise about us for organising this amazing event for them. You, as a King, can only participate if a champion challenges you."

Harry rolls his eyes and continues drinking. "I forgot about these stupid rules."

He feels Zayn's hand on his then and he turns his head to look at his husband. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Zayn smiles a little. "You're adorable when you act like a petulant toddler."

Harry tries to huff out a laugh even though he's mildly offended. Maybe. He still doesn't move his hand.

"Give me a sword and I'll show you a toddler," Harry remarks and looks off into the crowd while sipping on his wine. There are so many people he has no idea who they are. It's hard to keep track of hundreds of people in similarly looking clothes with nearly identical hats on their heads. Speaking of hats, no one told Harry that having a crown on his head the whole day would be this annoying and troublesome. While it fits perfectly, it's a heavy metal and weighs down his head, nearly causing him a headache.

Harry's just about to reach for his plate of meats and cheeses that a servant brought over when he notices a man from the opposite tribune staring at him. It's nothing out of the ordinary, usually, but he's sat his arse on this throne for hours now so no one bothers to stare him down like prey by now.

The man is young and Harry can't tell if he's handsome or not, or if he knows him from the distance but his face seems familiar. The look he's giving Harry doesn't seem nice in the slightest so he hopes it isn't someone he fucked back in the day and never talked to again.

Harry shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts and pushes a royal smile on his face for the Lord that just came to annoy them for favours for the third time today.

xxx

The jousting is pretty entertaining, even more so when Harry stops drinking the wine and starts to sober up which isn't all that ideal considering everyone is drunk off their arse.

It's later in the afternoon when Harry excuses himself to find a toilet and to also finally get away from these annoying, pesty Lords and Ladies, but he doesn't tell anyone that part. It's exhausting to be King sometimes, even if it has its perks. He's still bitter about the jousting situation because he really wanted to knock a knight on his arse today, with a jousting stick or a sword, whichever. Harry isn't picky about the method.

As he's getting back to the tribune, someone outright slams into his shoulder with full strength, making Harry stop and look back at the person in shock. He's the fucking King of England and no one can touch him without his permission. Definitely not this lowly bitch who walked away without apologizing. Harry didn't recognize the man but he decides to be rational and just let it go and leave him because the most likely reason for it is that he was so drunk he didn't recognize Harry and probably didn't know where he was walking.

He kisses Zayn's cheek after getting back on the tribune, whispering to him asking what's next on the programme.

"Something with music I think," Zayn replies quietly. "The sports are done for the day. It will be getting dark soon."

"Splendid," Harry chirps. "I'm looking forward to the ball actually. Haven't danced in a while. And it's always good fun to meet new people."

"How about we have some fun in our chambers before that?" Zayn whispers into Harry's ear and licks his earlobe, suggesting what kind of fun that might be.

"It's very hard to say no to such offer," Harry replies and steals a clandestine kiss.

Harry stops in his tracks then as, after the kiss, his eyes take him to the opposite tribune. He realizes that the man who crashed into him with disregard is actually the familiar one that kept staring at Harry like he's killed his whole family in front of his very eyes. He's starting at him now too and Harry second-guesses his previous judgement. Maybe that man wasn't that drunk at all and knew very well who Harry is.

xxx

Well fucked and sated, Harry and Zayn get to the ball once it's already begun. They drink more wine, dance until their heads spin and talk to so many people it's literally impossible to keep count. Harry always loves a good ball even though as a King, it's partly a business and state affair and not just an excuse to get drunk and laid.

It's quite late and Harry's talking to his courtiers, laughing over meaningless gossip when he notices Melisende talking to Zayn, both of them clearly looking distressed. They're in a corner, far from all the entertainment and drinks, talking with their faces close to each other, presumably in hushed voices. His heart rate speeding up, Harry excuses himself and walks to his husband and mother-in-law, seemingly acting like there's nothing going on when there surely must be a problem. He also realizes that he hasn't seen Melisende all day, forgetting about it in his drunken haze.

"What happened?" Harry asks when he reaches them, both of them letting out breaths of relief when they see it's just Harry and not someone else. 

"There are rumours about an opposition forming," Melisende says without preamble. "I was consulting my spies today and going over the evidence. It's resistance really."

Harry's breath lodges itself in his throat. "How extended is it?"

"Not much, we have nothing to fear as of yet," Melisende replies. "Why my spies notified me in distress is the fact that they suspect this might have something to do with that bastard Warwick's execution."

"Oh God," Harry breathes out and puts his hand on the wall, feeling like he's going to faint. "Who could do this? He did not have any followers loyal enough to try and avenge his death. Fuck. Could my Mother be connected to it?"

"No," Melisende shakes her head. "She is safe from rumours and also, she wouldn't do this and my spies would've told me. The resistance is dangerous to her because they could view her as a traitor since she sided with you and not Warwick."

"What are we going to do?" Harry asks. Zayn comes to wrap his arm around his waist then, squeezing his hip in comfort. It allows Harry to breathe out properly, his shoulders sagging. The gesture is a reminder that whatever happens, they're together and they're stronger together.

"Nothing," Melisende shrugs. "There is nothing to do. We will monitor the situation and try to crush it before anything happens. You two have to pretend like everything is perfect and everyone loves you. The events of last December are ancient history and we shall not mention them again. Warwick never lived for all we care."

"Alright," Harry nods. "But can we trust your spies? Completely? I would do anything to keep another civil war from happening. Our Kingdom needs peace."

"My Mother's spies know that if they lied even about the colour of someone's clothes they would be dead," Zayn replies instead of Melisende. Harry looks at him, their eyes meeting and the same emotions reflecting in them. Worry, fear but also determination. They can't give up fighting for their Kingdom.

"We will keep England from being torn by war," Zayn says. "We are not Kings of war but of peace. No fools trying to avenge the death of a traitor can hurt this country."

Harry nods repeatedly and kisses Zayn quickly because he knows no matter what happens, they will face it together and they'll never back down. As long as they're standing side by side, anything can try to test them but it will never succeed. They're a force to be reckoned with.

xxx

Harry's sitting around in his and Zayn's chambers with his courtiers, sipping tea and sorting through letters, replying to some that are of importance. The fireplace is keeping them from the December chill, snow falling behind the windowpanes. Possie is sleeping next to him on the sofa, purring loudly. It'd be a rather nice time if Harry wasn' troubled by a million different things.

"Alright," Harry sighs, putting the letter he was holding on the low table and leaning back on the sofa. "I've grown terribly tired of reading. Tell me the latest gossip. The nastiest shit about me or my husband you've heard. And who said it, so I know who to glare at nastily."

"Are you sure you want to hear it, Your Grace?" Avery asks. "It has been long since you asked about gossip."

Harry looks at Avery, a very young man with dirty blond hair who's way too kind for court politics. "I need to know it. I've been trying to ignore it for a while but I've seen a few more dirty looks than usual lately. What did we do?"

"Some do not like the progressive reforms King Zayn proposed," Edmund says. "It is mostly older Lords and Ladies. The reforms are popular with young folks. But most say it is too early after the war to implement them but it will not be a tragedy if you start right away."

Harry nods, categorizing the shit people not equipped to rule say in his head. "Alright. That is for us and the Privy Council to decide."

 "Surely, Your Grace," Isaac says. "There is some gossip about your love life, though."

"What about our love life?" Harry furrows his brows. "Do they want a detailed report of when and how we fuck? Because I do deem it inappropriate but the French King might not and we are friendly with each other, aren't we?"

There's some laughter around the room before it quietens and Isaac exchange a worried look with Avery and Edmund. Harry watches them warily, confused about what rumour could be so bad that they're hesitating.

"What is it?" Harry demands, his eyes sharply pointed at them. "Tell me immediately."

"Well, Your Grace," Avery says, his eyes averted to the floor. "There are many versions of the rumour but... people are trying to find out the reason behind you and King Zayn not having any children yet. The most popular one is that Your Grace is frigid... following the loss of your child."

Harry closes his eyes, breathing in deeply before mustering up the courage to open his eyes again and talk. "What is the other rumour?"

"It is really harsh, Your Grace," Edmund warns before continuing. "But some are saying that you were unfaithful to your husband and the child wasn't his. According to them, Queen Mother found out and has you poisoined because she would not let a bastard sit on the throne. And that now either you or King Zayn are unable to have children. The story varies from person to person."

Harry covers his face with his hands, sighing loudly. This can't be real. But it is because that is how court gossip works. It's like the bored Lords and Ladies were competing who will come up with bigger bullshit and then spread it around like horse shit on a shoe. He never cared for gossip about himself but not it's hitting too close to home. His own insecurities are attacked by these words and Harry fears they might have some truth in them.

"Are you alright, Your Grace?" Avery asks and puts a hesitant hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry uncovers his face, staring at the floor. "No, I am not alright because they might as well be correct."

"Are you unhappy with your marriage, Your Grace?" Avery asks carefully.

"No," Harry chuckles grimly. "Not at all. My husband is a gift from God himself and we fuck almost every day."

"Then what is it?" Isaac asks.

Harry breathes in, looking to the side. He's never said these words out loud, fearing they might come true. The power of letting words out into the universe is too strong and Harry's not taking it lightly. But this fear and anxiety are too much to bear alone. So he decides to tell the words now, before even telling them to his husband or anyone else.

"I am worried," Harry starts in a slightly shaky voice. "I am terribly worried that I might not be able to bear a child. Because of what happened. It will have been a year next week since I lost my first son, the child that never had the chance to take a single breath. I should be alright, no?

"But we have been trying for _months_  to conceive a child and nothing. Last time it took one single attempt. It must be my fault. Well, not caused by me. I meant that the poison hurt me permanently and now we will never have an heir. Because of _fucking_ Warwick. And it's troubling me."

"No, Your Grace, don't think like that," Avery says, his hand still a calming weight on Harry's shoulder. "You have been under a lot of stress, both of you. That is the cause behind your unsuccess."

"We will all pray for you, Your Grace," Edmund says. "You and King Zayn deserve nothing but happiness and good health. God will give you the heir to the throne."

The door bursts open then, starling all of them. Zayn walks in quickly, ordering everyone to leave. He looks distraught, to say the least, Harry concludes as his courtiers scurry out of the room.

"What in God's name are you doing?" Harry asks, standing up from the sofa and walking to Zayn. Even Possie woke up and ran off to the bedroom to go shed some fur on their duvet.

"Haz, I'm sorry for just running in here like this but you need to see this," Zayn hands him a letter Harry failed to notice previously. Harry takes it but eyes it with distrust. What could it possibly be to upset Zayn, the epitome of calmness, this much?

"What is it?" Harry asks dumbly.

"Just read it," Zayn insists.

_To the Kings that occupy a stolen throne,_

_enjoy your reign while you can. We have grown tired of looking at your happiness while we suffer under your rule. This idea of peace is just a children's tale, you fools. England will never be yours, not as long as I shall live._

_Your throne was given to you. Neither of you fought for it. But you will have to fight now. A battle will come. Not today, not tomorrow, not soon. I will be generous and give you time to prepare. But you will be preparing in vain if you think we will attack soon after you get this letter. You will wait and wait and wait until your hair turns grey with the unknown anticipation. Then I will come to slay you._

_I will come for you both when you are weak and I will make you weak if you fools do not do it yourselves. Do not waste your precious resources to find me. Melisende's spies cannot find me even if they scoured every inch of the island._

_Live your lives while your heads still sit on your shoulders._

_E. N. N._

Harry has to sit down after reading the letter. His hand is shaking, the paper almost making sound with it. He feels like he can't breathe, like every single stone in the castle is falling at the same time and he's floating in the middle of the mess. This cannot be happening. Not when they've just given England peace after decades of war.

"Who the fuck is E.N.N.?" Harry breathes out when his vocal cords finally start working again. "How can he be so sure that we won't find him and kill him before he even knows it?"

"I have no clue," Zayn sighs as he sits down next to Harry. "But my Mother knew something was wrong if this letter even got to us. We have to kick people off the court and reinforce the security. Have more soldiers here in the castle at all times. And we will try to do everything we can to keep them from causing any harm to our people."

"God, Zayn," Harry groans and rests his head on his husband's shoulder. "Why can't we just _live?_  Why can't we have peace? What have we ever done to hurt anyone?"

"I do not know, love," Zayn says and wraps his arm around Harry's shoulders. "But I know we can get through this. And we will."

"I hope you're right."


	33. Bittersweet Happiness

_Spring - Summer 1487 -- England_

When there is no commotion around the supposed threat, Harry and Zayn move on like nothing happened. Melisende's spies are still at all the right places, they're monitoring the minuscule opposition that is forming and life goes on. Even though they now have tasters for poison and their correspondence is usually received with anxiety because any letter might be another threat, their world doesn't turn on its head just because of some threats that every single monarch gets from time to time.

They've moved on to more exciting things, like building a new addition to the castle in the newest architectural style and also renovating some rooms. Mainland Europe showed them a shift in culture, new art and music and fashion that can only help England move forward in time. Not all of a ruler's duties are only about politics and taxes. Culture is an important part of society and Harry thinks everyone should have access to it. With the new printed books, thanks to this innovative technology from Germany, more and more people are able to buy books which is just wonderful. It would be great if they could, with time, of course, establish a library in every larger city. What could be even better, if there were more universities available for a larger part of England's citizens? 

The new ideas in thinking, art and fashion are by most in Italy called _the renaissance,_ because most of the inspiration is taken from Ancient Rome and Greece. Harry really loves it, mainly because the art is moving away from the church and so is the way of thinking. God has his place in churches and prayers. But he has to admit that the new art in churches in Europe was splendid.

Another threatening letter comes to them in March. Then another one in May. They disregard them because if someone was truly preparing to take them off the throne, they would have noticed. You do not stage a coup without _someone_  noticing and most of those someones are Melisende's spies.

Despite that, they have kept a closer look on the court in general. With the rumours about their failure to provide an heir, they need to be careful because a King without an heir is weak in the eyes of the nobles. They've carefully sent people away from court, citing reconstruction and such. It's been a precarious game to play - balancing the reforms, keeping the nobles happy and rich and trying to prevent another civil war. On top of all that, there's still no child which is worrisome. 

Other than these million things, business goes as usual.

"We are grateful for your hospitality during our stay, Your Graces," the Bohemian ambassador says before bowing. "I will be pleased to report back to our King so many positive things about the new peaceful England."

"It is our pleasure," Harry says. "Please, give your King our thanks for the gift."

"Will do, Your Grace," the ambassador says before bowing once more and leaving the throne room. 

Harry breathes out, sagging in the throne now that they've talked to everyone that wished to see them today. He turns to Zayn with a pained look. "He was the last one, right?"

"Yes, love," Zayn smiles and reaches over to take Harry's hand in his. "We have no more obligations for the rest of the day."

"Thank fuck," Harry groans. "Why is everyone so fucking whiny? They come and whinge to us about any little inconvenience like we could fix everything wrong with the world just because we're sitting on these thrones and we have crowns on our heads."

"Alright, now _you're_  winging," Zayn laughs. "Come on, it's beautiful outside. Let's go on a ride."

"That is not a terrible idea," Harry smiles and pushes himself off the throne, stretching when he stands up. "June is a wonderful time for outings. It's not too warm yet not too cold. And the sun stays up for ages. I wish it could be summer all year long."

Zayn just rolls his eyes and follows Harry out of the throne room.

xxx

It's scarcely a week later when Harry notices something weird. Like the world has shifted off its axis a little. Or as if someone had taken off his skin and sewn it back in a wrong way. He tries to reason that it's most likely just the anxiety about those threats. There may be a letter on his desk with threatening words at any moment and he can't do anything about it.

The next thing he does is go to Helen to ask if there were some major changes at court. She says that no, that not even a single person has left it in the past two weeks. Another person he sees is Melisende and he asks her about the spies. Everything seems stagnant and calm, except for a few small gatherings, the number of people so small that Harry and Zayn could slay them themselves with two sharp swords if they wished to.

It dawns on him one morning when he skips breakfast for the sixth time in a row that he might be with child. That would be the only reason why he feels like nothing quite seems right. Even though he isn't throwing up like last time, the breakfast skipping was caused by nausea that isn't very common for him unless he's been drinking all night. And he hasn't gotten that drunk at least since his 20th birthday which was more than four months ago. Along with that, he's felt a light pain in his lower back and belly and that is also not an everyday thing. So he decides to see the court's midwife.

It's nerve-wracking, knocking at the door of the room where she examines people but it needs to be done. Her warm encouraging smile calms Harry a bit, even as she asks him a million questions that don't have the right answer yet Harry wants to find it. The physical examination is eerily quiet and Harry prays to himself, hoping that the silence doesn't mean anything bad. Maybe he's going mad. Perhaps that's the reason behind his discomfort and strange feelings.

"Well, Your Grace," the midwife says after many excruciating minutes. "I think it is safe to say that England will have an heir soon."

"What?" Harry breathes out.

"If I am correct," the midwife continues as she writes something down in a thick book, "the baby should arrive in spring, most likely March."

"Are you certain?" Harry asks then, his voice shaky. "Absolutely certain?"

"Yes," the midwife replies with a knowledgable smile. "I am not wrong about these things. Are you not happy, Your Grace?"

"No, I am ecstatic," Harry says, still dumbfounded. "I just thought... that after I was poisoned I could not... you know. We had been trying for a year before this happened with no results."

"There is nothing to worry about," the midwife replies calmly. "After the use of such things like pennyroyal tea, it is harder to conceive a child for some time but unless there is an overdose, everything shall be just fine when the body recovers. And I was there when you lost your dear son, Your Grace. You were not given a dose that would cause an overdose thus there were no worries for any permanent damage done to you."

Harry lets out a sigh of relief. This could have ruined his reign, end his lineage and cause another civil war once he and Zayn died and there was no one to take over the throne. But that is not a worry anymore. As long as this child is born alive and healthy, their reign shall be safe.

"Try not to get drunk too often now," the midwife says, "and in a few months do not train with the longsword for it is too heavy. If you fear your safety now, I think you have quite a lot of time to wait with the announcement that an heir is on the way. You are quite tall and very lean so not many will notice unless you want them to, at least until winter."

"Alright, I will keep that in mind," Harry nods.

"Now, what are you doing, sitting here and staring at the wall, Your Grace?" the midwife grins. "Go on and tell your husband. You two have a wonderful reason to celebrate."

xxx

Nearly two years ago, Harry cried in their bed because he had found out that he was with child. This time, he's happy. He's genuinely happy. Everything is different. He isn't 18, scarcely a man and scared of the responsibilities of a King. He's not mourning his lost youth anymore. While he still is very young, this is his duty and he is not dreading its fulfilment.

Harry finds Zayn in the library, hunched over some documents and old books on the desk. With a sly smirk, he comes up behind him and startles him by wrapping himself over his back.

"Hello," Harry whispers. "I have good news."

"What kind of good news?" Zayn asks, still focused on the papers, not really paying any attention to Harry.

"I love your enthusiasm, by the way," Harry remarks.

"I'm sorry," Zayn sighs and finally turns around to talk to his husband properly. "What did you want to tell me, babe?"

"Oh, nothing important," Harry teases, "just that there's the heir to our throne in my belly. Really, nothing important _at all_. What did you have for lunch?"

"Love," Zayn lets out a breathy chuckle and wraps Harry in a hug. "That is great news. I knew your worries about the poison hurting you permanently couldn't be the truth. This is incredible."

"I know," Harry sighs and he pulls away, a smile on his lips. "My biggest hope is that now the court stops fucking gossiping because I have had enough. Even though I do not want to tell everyone right away. The first few weeks are crucial and the baby is vulnerable and might not make it. I do not want to be seen like that, to be talked about like the King who lost two children before even ruling for two years."

"Haz, I am certain everything will work out," Zayn says, his hand on Harry's cheek. "You are such a strong, incredible person. Please do not doubt yourself. Our son did not make it only because of the poison, not because of anything else. You should not worry about this because there are so many other things we have to worry about."

"I'll try," Harry nods softly.

"Let us go back to our chambers," Zayn says, taking Harry's hand in his. "We shall celebrate, my love."

xxx

It is only polite to announce the upcoming arrival of the heir three months later. In September, it's safe to assume the child is healthy and growing as it should. The midwife was right because there is virtually no physical evidence and no matter how long people stare at Harry, the only thing they have to believe that the heir is due to arrive in early spring, is his word.

They're visiting Westminster, for some end of summer celebrations joint with some celebratory event organized by the Lords for the yet unborn heir, as it is the polite thing that Lords have to do. The warmth of summer is still lingering in the air, even as they retreat to their rooms in a local manor house in the evening. It's a rather nice September this year which Harry appreciates even more because they have quite some travelling to do.

"I am infinitely grateful that the Marques of Winchester isn't living at court right now because his parties are too much to handle," Harry complains as he plops down on a sofa with some letters in his hand. "He drunk a pitcher of wine himself and still seemed sober."

"One time," Zayn starts talking from his perch on the window sill. "I talked to him at a party. It was late and I remember that I was sober because I was supposed to leave for Skipton early in the morning and riding a horse with a hangover is just horrible. We talked for at least thirty minutes and I was under the impression that he was sober the whole time we talked. And then in the morning, I tried to ask him about something he said last night and hear this, he did not even remember we talked! I admire him because I would love not to remember some conversations and seem sober while having them."

"That's just insanity," Harry scoffs, opening one letter after another, only to chuck them on the table to be read later. "Oh look, my Mother wrote."

"What does she say?" Zayn asks.

Harry runs his eyes over the letter, quickly reading the sentences. "Apparently she's going to Scotland for a bit. I have no idea why. And she says she is happy for us and that she will be back at court in time for the baby's birth. Hm. Nice sentiment. I just hope she doesn't bring Bedwyr along. I do not miss that man in the slightest. Come here and read the boring letters, please?"

Harry gathers the letters on the table in his hand, save for his Mother's and waves them at Zayn, who takes them and retreats back to his spot on the window sill.

"Oh fuck," Harry says some minutes of silence later when he gets to the last letter. "It's another one from the mysterious arsehole who keeps threatening us. Do we have extra guards here, love?"

"We do," Zayn affirms. "The whole town is being monitored for any suspicious activity."

Harry nods and opens the letter, reading it quickly.

_My dearest false Kings,_

_I hope you have a nice time travelling. Flaunting your heir in front of everyone's eyes. I pity the child._

_I think you two are getting bored. Please enjoy my compliments of some excitement._

_We will see each other soon._

_E. N. N._

"Read it," Harry gives the letter to Zayn, who quickly goes over the words and they exchange a worried look.

"What the fuck does he mean he will see us soon?" Zayn curses. "He has not mentioned anything about facing us since the first letter. Could have he been at the celebrations today?"

"I have no clue," Harry shakes his head softly. "We need to be very, very careful because he mentioned the child. He could easily get the same fucked up idea that Warwick had."

"We'll reinforce the security," Zayn says. "The castle is safe at the moment, it is just the visits that could cause trouble."

Before Harry can reply, they're interrupted by a knock on the door. Inviting the person outside in, Helen steps in, looking quite grim.

"What is it?" Harry asks as soon as he notices her face. "What happened? Is something wrong?"

"There have been signs of an armed attack," Helen says without walking around the point. "Here in town. We are sending out some soldiers to prevent it. It's just a few men, no more than a dozen but with swords, they can cause enough damage."

"We're coming along," Harry says, standing up from the sofa. "Call a servant to get armour and weapons."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Helen and Zayn both start talking at him if he's insane or completely mad to try and fight when he's with a child.

"Oh, please," Harry scoffs. "Are you two doctors? I can fight as long as I feel like it. And who said there will be any fighting? Is sitting on a horse going to hurt me? No. So shut up, both of you, I can make my own decisions. Helen, please, can you get the servants with armour? Thank you."

Helen obviously wants to say something but she only takes a deep breath, clearly keeping a lot of words in and with a slight bow, she leaves the room and closes the door loudly behind her.

"Harry, why are you trying to put yourself at risk?" Zayn asks the second the door is closed.

"I can fight just as well as I could three months ago," Harry replies stubbornly. "If I weren't sure about this, I would have stayed behind."

"Did you not read the letter, love?" Zayn continues, coming closer to Harry. "It's not just about you anymore."

Harry looks at his husband sternly. "Last time I was sitting on my arse in the castle and our son still died. That is the last thing about this I am going to say. From now on I am only willing to discuss strategies of approach and nothing else."

Zayn sighs in defeat, knowing he cannot change Harry's mind and the only way to keep him from going is locking him somewhere and he's not going to do it to the person he loves the most in the world. Trying to find the best strategy to get rid of this group of men is better than pointlessly fighting.

xxx

Roughly an hour later, they're riding their horses on the edge of town, nearing a farm where the men are supposedly hiding after trying to attack a manor house nearby where a family that has has a good relationship with the royal family for a long time lives. The farmhouse and its surrounding buildings look eerily peaceful, almost suspiciously so.

They're with around twenty men, enough to take down the eight or so that were part of the attack. At the gates, they quietly decide who goes where, everyone agreeing and they get off of their horses to be quieter and more agile.

Harry and Zayn go along with two more soldiers to a shabby looking barn. It's empty of all animals when they peek inside after Zayn slowly opened the door, his sword ready in his hand. They nod at the soldiers to stay outside to guard the only visible exit in case someone tried to surprise-attack them from the back.

Inside the air is stale and nasty but the place seems quiet. Of course, if the men were here, they wouldn't be shouting at the top of their lungs but hiding somewhere. There are stacks of hay that are more than perfect for hiding.

Zayn nods at Harry, telling him with no words that he's gonna check the other end of the barn while Harry checks this side. Their swords unsheathed, it's only about not missing the moment when the attack comes.

Some ghostly silent minutes later, there's a thud, like something heavy falling down on the hay-covered floor. Shortly after, the sound of two swords clanging is heard and Harry sees a flash of Zayn fighting some man that must have jumped down from the rafters before he has to raise his own sword to meet the sword of another man that appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

It's all clangs and flashes of metal then, four swords meeting in the empty barn, each with the intent to kill. The man is not a bad swordsman by any means but Harry's still better and has the upper hand the whole time. He doesn't have to defend himself often but he still does. Moments, which seemed like an eternity, pass before Harry pierces the man through his shoulder with his sword, pinning him to the wooded barn wall.

"Who the fuck are you?" Harry asks him, his breathing heavy with the extortion.

The man laughs right into Harry's face.

"I am your King and I asked you a question," Harry yells at him. "Who are you? Where is your leader? Who is he?"

"You will meet him when he will want to," the man grins as if there wasn't a sword piercing the meat and bone of him.

"I will meet him when I decide and his head will be on a spike in no time," Harry says through his teeth. "Now tell me who he is before you are drawn and quartered in the castle's torture chamber. I have no mercy for you."

The man suddenly stabs a dagger into his own throat, the blood spraying out of the wound even onto Harry's face. He stares at the man in shock as he laughs, his teeth bloody and more blood is gushing out of his mouth. Harry's grip on the sword goes limp and the man slides down the wall, leaving a bloody trail and died seconds later.

Dumbfounded, Harry turns around to see Zayn looking at him with his sword red and a dead body lying at his feet. They don't need to say anything, the looks are enough. This problem might be bigger than they ever anticipated.


	34. Unmasked

_Winter 1487-1488 -- England_

Many things changed after the attempted attack. There wasn't a place except for the castle where they could feel safe. Fortunately, they were successful in shushing down the rumours about the attack so the people were calm and no one unsatisfied with their rule could feel inclined to join them. No King is perfect, Harry and Zayn both know it, but a resistance this soon after they've ascended to the throne? It wasn't like they are complete strangers who took over England in a bloody war.

No matter how they and Melisende's spies tried, they couldn't for the life of them find who E.N.N. is. Do they know him? Have they met him? Is he highborn or a peasant? Millions of questions without any answers.

Months pass without any new information. There are no signs of a large resistance forming which either means they're really good at hiding or there simply isn't enough people to join them. After all, the attack in September was carried out by eight men, all of whom were either killed or killed themselves when pressed for answers.

Yet there were no more letters. Months and months passed and not a single letter, note, anything. It was terrifying in a way. The silence could mean that they've given up. It could mean that the mysterious E.N.N. was killed in the attack. But it could also be the calm before the storm and they're preparing for even a bigger fight. All of these are very real possibilities.

The first visit to somewhere further than London is in December, just before Christmas. They can't get away with not travelling anywhere for so long and people want to see them, meet them, especially not that there's an heir on the way. As long as they've been Kings they haven't really ventured up north so this time, they're going to York to visit the annual Christmas market and attend the town's Christmas celebrations.

It's like a dream walking the streets of York again, cruising around the town that witnessed how their relationship flourished from hatred to unconditional love and adoration. The streets filled with snow, even more snowflakes falling down on their thick cloaks, it seems like it was truly yesterday when they met in a tavern and drunkenly fallen into bed together.

"I cannot believe we met here nearly three years ago," Harry tells Zayn as they're walking through the streets lined with stalls, people either staring at them or bowing slightly. "We were just kids and now everything is so fucking different."

"I know, it's crazy," Zayn sighs. Their gloved hands are clasped together between them as they walk leisurely, snow crunching underneath their boots.

"When I first met you, I never would have thought that we would end up together," Harry says with a chuckle. "And look at us. We have been married for more than two years and we are having a baby in three months."

"If we have not met and fallen in love," Zayn says, "we would have killed each other in the war. Maybe not soon. Perhaps we would have had children of our own already as our Fathers did. But maybe we would have both died in the Battle of Bosworth."

"I do not think Melisende would ever let me kill you," Harry laughs. "She would have found a way to get rid of me. Hell, I thought she would strangle me with her bare hands when we were already married."

"Don't underestimate yourself, love," Zayn says and squeezes Harry's hand encouragingly. "Shall we get back to the square? Lord Blackburn wants us to give a Christmas blessing, whatever that is."

"Surely," Harry nods. "I would not mind going back inside and sitting in front of a fire. We have been outside for hours, I can barely feel my fingers."

"We will go in a bit, don't worry love."

As they walk back, they decide to stop at many stalls to simply talk to people and they do end up buying a few trinkets which are given to their guards who are following them for safekeeping. It's nice, with wreaths and holly everywhere, carols carrying out their melodies through the streets, even if everyone's watching them like hawks. You do get used to it when it's been two years. 

Back in the square, the majority of the people who went out into the streets are gathered. There are tables for them to sit at and drink mulled wine and eat all the food they can. Everyone's your friend today, no matter who you are. The cheeriness is something magical that Christmas is capable of bringing back each and every year.

They're meaninglessly chatting with Lord Blackburn and his wife when there's a bloodcurdling scream. Everyone's attention turns to the direction where it came from and before most have the chance to notice what happened to the person screaming, there's chaos everywhere.

Men in black clothes with their face hidden and swords unsheathed start to appear everywhere in the crown. Chaos ensues as people try to run away, only to be met with the sharp blade of a sword. Blood paints the snow red, bodies falling on the ground rapidly. In the shock, Harry sees at least twenty men in the square, slaying innocent people like animals. The royal guards stationed around the square and nearby streets attack the cryptic men but the damage has already been done.

"Your Grace, you need to hide," their guards says. "You need to get off the square and hide somewhere where they won't think to look for you. Do you know the city?"

"Yes, we do," Zayn says. "I know where we could go. Come on, Haz. Before they see us leaving."

Zayn grabs his hand and they start walking briskly away from the square, leaving the massacre behind with one more look over the shoulder. It's a bloodbath and they can't do anything about it now.

People are hiding under stalls and behind tables but there are still many of them running around like headless chickens. Harry doesn't know York as well as Zayn does, even if they spent countless hours roaming the streets three years ago. It was mostly at night though and the city looks much different in sunlight.

"Where are we going?" Harry asks as they duck into a narrow alley that's completely deserted.

"Frederick's house," Zayn replies and pulls out his sword from its holster. "It is not far and even though he's at court, there should be some staff taking care of it. His sister might be there too."

They're walking close to the buildings because they're more likely to blend in that way than if they were walking through the middle of the alley where anyone could spot them without a second look. It's probably pure luck that this one street is empty.

Suddenly, there is a hand on Harry's mouth and the sharp end of a blade on his throat. He can't speak but he grips Zayn's hand so hard he nearly breaks his fingers and turns around immediately, his eyes going wide when he sees the scene.

"Do not move a finger or he and your child both die," a manly voice says uncomfortably close to Harry's ear. "Drop the sword."

With the dull sound of Zayn's sword hitting the snow-covered street, Harry's sure he's going to die now and they're going to make a spectacle out of it. They were foolish enough to think they could find out everything about the rebellion and live their lives as if there wasn't someone in their kingdom actively trying to murder them.

"Follow me, both of you," the man says and starts dragging Harry somewhere, which turns out to be the back entrance of a tavern. The edge of the blade is uncomfortable on Harry's throat but it hasn't pierced his skin yet which is a small blessing in this fucked up situation.

The man must have ducked out of the door soundlessly and grabbed Harry from behind. With the ruckus in the square not far and snow crunching underneath their feet, they failed to hear the man approach behind them.

They're lead into the main room of the tavern which is empty save for one of those masked men standing by the main door. The man holding Harry finally lets him go and retreats to his post guarding the other entrance which leads to the kitchen they just walked through. Harry and Zayn stick together and at that moment Harry would do anything to just unsheath his sword that's hiding behind his winter cloak but it would be fooling and he would be without a proper weapon because the dagger in his boot isn't much help against two men with longswords.

"What the fuck do you want from us?" Harry spits out. "Why are you killing innocent people? All of you are cowards if you cannot face us but kill helpless people instead. They did nothing to you."

"Did they?" say a deep voice from the staircase landing.

Harry's head turns so quickly he nearly snaps his neck to see the man talking. And he nearly faints when he sees the familiar face.

It's the man from the tournament. The one with sandy hair and blue eyes who tried to burn through Harry's skin with his eyes. The one that slammed into him without looking back.

He looks even angrier today with his cocky smirk and a woman with a bag over her head with tried wrists that is struggling in his grip.

"It's you," Harry says quietly, his voice drifting off at the end.

"It _is_ me, Harry," the man says, addressing Harry as if he wasn't his King but merely a friend. "Do you remember me?"

"You were at the tournament last fall," Harry replies grimly, his anger now kicking in. God, he wishes he knew somehow when he has the chance to very easily kill him.

"No other memories?" he asks when he's already downstairs in front them along with the hidden woman who keeps trashing against his grip.

Harry doesn't reply. He watches every single twitch of the man's muscles. The want to sink a sword into the man's heart is almost strong enough to encompass him and bring him to make a mistake that would cost him his life, along with the lives of his husband, child and most likely the woman who's being held hostage.

"No?" the man asks with furrowed brows. "I got someone here to motivate you."

Blond hair spills from the bag when it's removed and Helen's terrified face, with a cloth tied around her mouth to keep her quiet, peaks out of the mass of curls. It takes a lot to keep the gasp in.

"You will let her go right this moment," Harry says through his teeth. "Or I will kill you."

The man just laughs and pulls out a dagger, pressing it her throat. Harry takes a step forward but Helen's violent headshake and Zayn's hand on his wrist stops him.

"Helen knows me from somewhere other than the tournament," the man says. "The didn't remember at first but I helped her get her mind in order. I will gladly help you too."

"I have no fucking clue who you are," Harry says, trying to keep his face straight. "If we fucked one time and you fell madly in love with me, it is not my problem. Trying to start a civil war over is it pathetic and disgusting. You will not keep your head after this."

The man laughs again, the sound chilling to the bone. "As fucking usual, you make everything about yourself. I would never stick my cock in you. Many have, that is one of the reasons why I would not. I have more important reasons."

"Really?" Harry asks, seemingly bored. "Then what are they? I am not interested in playing these stupid guessing games."

"Do you remember when you were a child? Growing up at Warwick castle?" the man asks, his face now grimly serious.

"I do," Harry replies cautiously. "What does that have to do to with anything?"

"Everything, Harry," he replies. "Absolutely everything. Because you do not remember. You never remember and you are selfish. Nothing that doesn't benefit you interests you. You are just a spoiled brat. If you were not, you would have remembered me."

Harry has nothing to say to this. What is he missing? Who was in his life at such a young age and left that Harry forgot?

"We used to play together," the man says. "We were taught things at Binham Abbey together. You were a wee little bastard but I remember well how you always got away with anything. Do you remember now?"

Even with searching his memories as deep as he can, Harry can't remember. They were children at the castle that he used to play with, so were they at the abbey. What could've happened then that is affecting this man so greatly even now, more than fifteen years later?

Harry just shakes his head because he is not certain his voice wouldn't shake.

The man scoffs. "Of course you don't. Why doesn't it surprise me?"

Helen is visibly shaking right now. Her wrists are bruised around the rope binding them together. The blade keeps pushing at the skin of her throat.

"That is not why I am doing what I'm doing," the man says. "That is just your ignorance, it's insignificant. But you killed my Father, Harry. And that is the most significant thing."

Harry breathes out a surprised laugh. "Your Father? Get over yourself. My Father died when I was a child and I am not trying to ruin an entire country because of it."

Anger sparks up in the man's eyes. "No, you are not. Because you got your crown by lying on your back and opening your legs. Everyone knows the war would have been still going on if you didn't. But what you did to my Father is much greater than this stupid war your families were decimating the country with for decades. You _tarnished_  him. Treated him like _dirt_."

" _Who_ is your Father?" Harry shouts out, frustrated. "I cannot read your mind."

"My name is Edric Nathaniel Neville," the man says. "And two years ago, you had my Father beheaded and proclaimed a traitor."

The entire world seems to shift and throw everything off its balance. He's Warwick's son. Edric Nathaniel Nevill is Nathaniel Nevill's son who was the 16th Earl of Warwick before his death.

"That's right," Edric says, digging his blade deeper into Helen's throat who smothers a gasp. "Lord Warwick was my Father. And you killed him. Like he was _nothing_  when he took care of you and your whore Mother ever since your useless Father died. He treated you like a son, like he should have treated _me_  and you didn't even thank him. No, you killed him instead. He should've sat on the English throne because he _deserved it_ , unlike you two useless fools."

There is sheer insanity coming off of Edric. He's a bastard and now that his Father that didn't want him is dead, he is trying to fix his problems by killing innocent people.

"Warwick was never a Father to me," Harry says, his eyes not leaving Edric's. "He never once called me son. Yes, he married my Mother but that was for his own gain. Everything he ever did was for himself. He did not care about anyone except for himself. He did not care about me, about my Mother and he did not care about you since no one knew about you."

"Shut up!" Edric yells, throwing Helen on the floor and coming right in front of Harry so close that their noses nearly touch. Harry's gaze doesn't waver. He doesn't back down.

"Your precious Father hid you from everyone because he was ashamed that he didn't pull his cock out of your Mother," Harry says in a low voice. "And now you are trying to fix an unfixable thing by threatening me? Go on, kill me if you think you will be King if you do it. Is that what you are trying to do?"

Edric doesn't answer. His breathing is heavy, his nostrils flaring with each breath he takes.

"If you kill me, you will die," Harry says quietly. "If you do not die right away, every single person in England will hate you. And _then_  you are going to die. Is that what you want?"

With a shaky breath, Edric turns on his heels and goes back to Helen, who has scrambled up to her feet, and puts his blade against her throat once again.

"I will kill you," Edric says. "Not today but I will."

"I would like to see you try," Harry replies. "Your Father was a horrible man, Edric. He killed my son. He nearly killed me too. That is why he died. Not because I woke up one day and thought I'm going to have my Mother's husband killed because I do not like him. I am a King, I do not have the time to be petty. You still have a chance to be a better man than him."

Edric looks at the man at the main entrance and nods his head, the man leaving his post promptly and he and the other man retreat to the back door where Harry and Zayn entered.

"If you move, she dies," Edric says as he starts backing down to the back door. "Do not try to catch me. It is pointless."

When he's almost at the door to the kitchen, he lets Helen go, pushing her forward so she drops on her knees as he runs to the exit. The moment he turns his head, Harry pulls out his sword and thrusts it into Zayn's hand, who runs after Edric before the door to the kitchen even closes.

Meanwhile, Harry walks to Helen on the floor, squatting down to her and taking out the dagger from his boot so he can free her from the restraints. After he cuts the rope from her wrists and the cloth from her mouth, she throws himself into his arms and starts sobbing uncontrollably.

"I didn't know," Helen cried. "I had no idea Edric was Warwick's bastard. I swear to God I didn't know."

Harry's known Helen for a long time but he has never seen her cry. He shushes her, stroking her back and saying it will be alright. If he repeats the words to himself enough times, he might believe it.

Not a long moment later, Zayn returns with a grim expression. Harry looks up at him expectantly from the floor.

"They must have had horses waiting at the back," Zayn sighs. "And they locked the door. By the time I kicked it open, they were gone."

"Fuck," Harry curses.

Their guards find them a bit later, reporting that the attack took at least thirty lives. Eleven of Edric's men died and another roughly fifteen got away, including Edric and those men who guarded the exits.

Even hours later, Harry can't wrap his head around how can someone get so consumed by pointless revenge that they would take innocent lives? Edric must be stopped before another soul becomes victim to his insanity.

xxx

It's early January morning when Harry talks through the dark hallways of the castle to the chapel. He hasn't been there since before his son died. And now he is going to see his grave and tomb in the chapel for the first time.

He'd been dreading it before finally slowly coming to terms with it over the past few days, and weeks really. The child he's carrying under his hear is now with him longer than his dead son and that realization brought him to find the courage to visit the grave.

He's walking there alone, his path illuminated by the weak torches scattered through the hallways. Without proper clothing, it would be a rather hilarious sight to see the King of England in his nightgown and slippers with a cloak thrown around his shoulders walking to the chapel while the majority of the castle is still in deep slumber.

The chapel is almost entirely dark but still illuminated enough for Harry to find what he's looking for.

The writing on the tomb says " _Unborn Prince of England, the first Plantagenet heir of King Zayn and King Harry. May his soul rest in Heaven among angels. 1486."_.

It's terribly grim to read it, to remember the events that lead to his death and how he came to be as well. He deserved better. He deserved to be fully loved before he was born. He deserved to take that first breath, to cry out upon entering the world and then live for long happy years. But he didn't get any of it. The least Harry can do now is remember his brief existence with love and grant his soul peace.

The very much alive child present kicks Harry, as if to remind him of its presence. Like it knew that its brother is near and that its Father is thinking of him.

"I know, love," Harry says to his belly. "I do want you out of there too. Just wait a little while and we will properly meet."

There will be no more tiny tombs, Harry thinks. No matter what Edric or whoever does, his children will be buried here once he himself has had his bones here for a very long time and they've lived their lives to the fullest. His family has suffered enough because of the wretched Warwicks. Enough is enough.


	35. Crowning Touch

_March 1488 - Windsor, England_

Harry absolutely detests waiting. He's been called impatient but is that really a bad thing? Wanting everything to move smoothly without wasting time? Whether it is waiting for a battle to start in the uncomfortable armour or waiting for a lover at midnight in a dark hallway, Harry's always anxious to just fucking move on with it. What he absolutely hates is when someone's late, stalling all the plans Harry has for the day.

But the waiting for his first child to be born takes the crown for being the most annoying one because it is the most inconvenient. It has been four days since the midwife told him the child has moved into the right position and everything seemed like it was ready to get out. As stated, that was four very long days ago, during which Harry didn't get anything proper done and it drove him crazy. Sitting around and waiting isn't a thing he does so he's understandably anxious and irritable. 

In the morning of another day that Harry deems boring before it even starts, he wakes up too early. The sun isn't even out yet so it must be little after five in the morning when he calls for some servants to draw him a bath. His lower back hurts like hell and the water might help. Either way, he knows he isn't going to fall asleep again with that much discomfort.

It's just when he's about to get dressed that he gets notified in a very wet, watery way that his child has _finally_  decided to stop torturing him and wants to get out.

He retreats to his own chambers that he doesn't frequent often, simply because he doesn't want to ruin the bed he's intending on sleeping in after the child is born and where his husband is also sleeping at the moment. Being the true pragmatic he is, Harry starts reading a book after getting as comfortable as he can get with the pain in his bed. The true pain hasn't kicked in yet and truth be told, he just wants to get his mind off of everything.

The midwife arrives shortly after, giving a shocked look to his apparent leisure.

"Your Grace, how can you be... so calm?" she asks dumbfoundedly.

"The pain is just like a good smack with a sword on shitty armour," Harry winces as he tries to shit of the bed. "But it is growing stronger."

The midwife nods. "I shall check how everything is going and then I will get you some tea and potions to speed things up and help a little with the pain."

The sun is already up when Zayn comes in, worrying coming to the bed and embracing Harry around the shoulders.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he asks, pulling back but grabbing Harry's hand in his. "I cannot believe you. How are you doing?"

"I feel like crap," Harry sighs. "Can you lie here with me? I don't wanna be alone anymore. Well, I do but I want to be alone with you."

"Sure," Zayn nods. He crawls over Harry's outstretched legs to the other side of the bed and Harry then arranges himself very painfully to have his head in Zayn's lap. Without even a word, Zayn's hand goes to Harry's hair automatically which is very soothing and just what Harry needs now that he can't really distract himself with books anymore.

"I wish I could speed up time," Harry says. "I hate waiting. And I hate the pain. It's not like an injury. Well, it was at first but not anymore."

"I am so sorry you're hurting, love," Zayn says softly.

"It's fine," Harry sighs again. "We need to have children somehow. It's not like we can buy an egg and have a baby hatch in a few months without all the struggle around it."

Zayn laughs. "That would be funny, babe."

There's comfortable silence for a while, the motion of Zayn combing his fingers through Harry's hair nearly putting Harry to sleep if there weren't these spikes of pain hitting him in intervals.

"What were you reading before I got here?" Zayn asks.

"Divina Commedia by Dante," Harry replies. "Could you please read it to me? It's hard to focus on reading but I'm more than alright with listening."

"Sure," Zayn says, already reaching for the book on the bedside table.

The pain is drowned out by the distractions Harry carefully got around himself. Zayn's voice reading one of his favourite books is immensely helping with not focusing on the strange pressure he feels on the lower half of his torso. He knows there are going to be more hours like this and the pain and the pressure are only going to get worse. But even with all of it, Harry's eyes are on the end goal and he tries to think about how in a few hours he's going to finally hold his child in his arms. He's gotten through so many things, he can get through it. Time will pass no matter what.

"You know you sound really hot when you're speaking Italian?" Harry mumbles, referring to the foreign language of the book.

"Really?" Zayn asks. "English isn't doing it for you?"

Harry hums. "Yes. But there is something when you speak either French or Italian that makes it just pretty fucking attractive to hear you speak. It is like dirty talking but you're not talking about fucking at all."

"I will keep that in mind, love," Zayn chuckles and goes back to reading.

A little while later the midwife finally comes back with the tea and potions. She immediately makes Harry drink them and they're truly disgusting, all of them.

"That is wretched!" Harry exclaims after drinking all of them. "Why does it taste so horrible?"

"Do not complain, Your Grace," the midwife chirps. "You will see how they help you in just a little while. That second one with the funny smell will save you at least two hours of pain. Now try to relax your muscles and lie down. I am right behind the door, ready whenever you need me."

After she leaves, Harry goes back to his previous position on the bed. He starts to feel differently in about an hour, admitting that those potions truly work. When Divina Commedia is finished, Harry sits up with his back against the back of the bed, countless pillows behind him. He and Zayn are side by side and Harry rests his head on his shoulder as they talk. He also plays with Zayn's fingers or just simply holds his hand. 

The room is surprisingly peaceful for a few hours, the time divided only by the midwife's visits and the intensity of the pain. Harry truly doesn't want to see anyone, doesn't want anyone fussing around him like he was dying or something so he prohibited everyone but the midwife and servants from entering. His Mother would want to be at his side the whole time now that she's back at court and that's the last thing he wants. Which is why it's weird when just before midday, Melisende enters the room.

"I know you did not want to see anyone, Harry, but something happened," Melisende says as soon as the door is closed behind her. "It's Edric."

"What is it?" Harry asks. "What did that bastard do?"

Melisende takes a deep breath and she looks the most concerned Harry has ever seen her. This is not a good sign.

"He is marching on the castle," Melisende says. "He will be by the gates soon. His so-called army is small that is why he could move unnoticed until he some of the riders that were on the usual lookout spotted him. We have enough soldiers here to take them down but I am not sure if this is all it is. If he has more men somewhere, a war could ensue."

"That fucking-" Harry gasps before finishing his very accurate description of Edric Neville thanks to sharp, intense pain that feels like it's everywhere. His back lifts off from the soft pillows as his hand shoots up to his stomach.

Melisende is suddenly at his side. "How long has it been, dear?"

"More than six hours," Harry says. The pain makes him want to climb out of his body but

"Mother, where is Edric now?" Zayn asks, already standing up from the bed.

Melisende looks up at him, now holding Harry's free hand in hers. "Not far from Burnham. The majority are marching on foot. We have two hours at most until he gets here. But we do not want the fight to happen right next to the town."

"I will send for Helen and Lord Hastings," Zayn says. "Has anyone been notified?"

"Yes, the soldiers are already being gathered and armed," Melisende replies. "Go and get ready, I will stay with Harry."

"My love," Zayn tells Harry, bending down to kiss his forehead. "I will be back soon."

"If you die," Harry says. "I am going to raise you from the dead and then kill you again, do you understand?"

"I do," Zayn nods with a small, grim smile. "I love you."

"I love you too," Harry replies. He's torn from the conversation by another sudden surge of pain that makes him cry out.

Melisende calls for the midwife, who comes rushing in the room with other servants carrying various things.

When Zayn's in the door, about to close it, Harry looks up at him again.

"If you die and our child will have to grow up without knowing one of its parents," Harry says. "You would not wish to meet me in the afterlife."

Zayn tries to smile, play it off as a joke, and closes the door behind him. The difference between life here and death to come on a battlefield is stark. Each one is a battle of its own.

xxx

Zayn worries the whole way to the place of the battle to come. He didn't want to leave Harry back at the castle but this battle needs to be fought. He wishes they could be here together, sitting on their horses and standing side by side to face their enemy.

The last three years have been a whirlwind. From their marriage to the loss of their child to this fucking mess with Edric Neville now. They can't catch a break and just rule in peace like they intended to when they took their horses one summer night and met up in Bosworth to get married and bring peace to England with their union. They couldn't do it because Lord Warwick felt like he was more fit to rule than the two of them combined and killed their child to try and gain control over Harry somehow. As if that would have worked. He forgot Harry wasn't a little boy anymore.

And even though Warwick has been rotting in the ground for over two years, his bastard is trying to stir up a civil war and usurp the throne. Continue his Father's legacy of being a fucked up piece of shit it seems like. But today is the last day he will ever get to act out like this. If he is not killed in battle, he is going to rot in the castle's dungeon before meeting the same fate as his father did.

Other than Lord Hastings, the commander of the royal army, no other members of the Privy Council have joined other than Frederick and Helen. Some soldiers raised their eyebrows at the fact that a woman is going to be fighting beside them but they don't know yet that Helen is a better fighter than most of them and definitely more ruthless.

The spring sun is high up on the sky when their waiting army division sees Edric's marching one nearing the clearing not far from the town. They've just crossed the river Thames and blocked off the bridges that could take Edric to the castle.

Edric is riding proudly at the front of his arguably small army, banners of Warwick and the House of Neville waving at the front. No more than a dozen men other than Edric have a horse and proper armour. It feels like a small peasant rebellion trying to face the King. Zayn would feel sorry for the men who are all surely about to lose their lives but they brought this misery upon themselves. Besides, they have killed innocent people in the Christmas massacre in York. They don't deserve any kindness or mercy.

Just as Zayn expected, as soon as Edric's army is close enough to fight, their war horns sound off and they surge forward. It'd be annoying if human lives weren't at stake.

The battle breaks out and it would remind Zayn of the Battle of Bosworth but there are not nearly enough people present for it. Edric's army is pathetic, to say the least. It feels like a child's game, playing the poorly armed men down but Zayn doesn't think about it as he tries to get to Edric, who has retreated to the back once he saw that his "army" does not have a chance against them. He almost manages to run away when Zayn catches up with him and shouts at him to get off his horse and stop being a coward.

Edric does climb down and the fight begins on the grass. He must have gotten proper training because he isn't a bad swordsman. He is quick and agile, not necessarily very strong but he blocks off the hits from Zayn's sword fairly well which isn't ideal at all.

The sound of the battle behind them rings off in their ears like a bad song. It's like they were in a bubble where nothing existed but the fight between them, both of them desperately trying to kill the other. Only one of them can succeed and they both know it damn well.

Zayn gets a slash on Edric's leg, which weakens Edric and makes him stumble on his feet. There is no time to waste, to time for heroic acts, for speeches about what a terrible person Edric his. Zayn surges forward and hits the weak spot of exposed skin between Edric's helmet and chest plate, his sword uncovering blood. Edric goes limp fast, the hand with his sword hanging uselessly at his side as he tries to cover his neck with his free hand but it isn't much help because of his glove. He falls down to his knees, his hands dropping to his side and he looks up at Zayn emotionlessly. A man at the brink of death, still not ready to give up.

"I hope you burn in hell with your Father," Zayn says and delivers the final blow to Edric's neck, nearly hacking his head clean off. 

It's a gruesome sight, Edric's dead body with his nearly decapitated head lying on the grass but it had to be done. He didn't deserve to get out of this battle alive.

Zayn never wanted to see another pointless battle in his life and yet here he is. He took the life of a young man but he was not innocent. As he climbs up on his horse again, his sword cleaned off of the blood on the grass, Zayn thinks about the innocent townfolks that lost their lives in York just before Christmas. It was purely Edric's fault and for committing such a crime, no man shall walk free and alive. 

"Your leader is dead!" Zayn shouts from the back of his horse when he gets back to the battle. Most men who are lying on the ground were Edric's but he sees a few of his own soldiers in the blood-soaked mud. "Arrest the rest of the traitors! They shall answer for their crimes on the gallows!"

His army, who is clearly in the lead, starts capturing the remainder of Edric's men. Some start running away but to no avail. Their fates have already been decided.

Zayn finds Helen standing next to her horse with a tied up man thrown over the horse's back.

"Are you alright?" Zayn asks her as he stops his own horse.

"I'm splendid," Helen replies. "I got Edric's right-hand man. I am going to make sure the torturer gets every last thing out of him."

"Make sure Edric's head is displayed on a spike at the gate," Zayn says. "I'm going to get back now. Can you and Frederick handle this?"

"Of course," Helen smiles. "Give Harry my regards."

"I will," Zayn tries to return the smile but he won't be able to be truly at peace until he's in the castle and he will know for sure that Harry is safe.

As Zayn's speeding towards the castle on his horse, he doesn't think about anything else but seeing Harry again. Edric is dead and as soon as the rest of his followers are hanged in the following days, they can put everything connect to Warwick behind them and never look back, just like Zayn is leaving the bloody battlefield full of death that was completely unnecessary.

xxx

Harry's been in a delirious state of pain for hours. After Melisende came to give them news about Edric's attack, everything just unfolded so rapidly he didn't even have the chance to fully take in what was going on with stuff. With Edric, with his child that was desperately trying to get out into the world and Harry was even more desperately trying to help it.

His Mother was in the room for a while because apparently, his guards can't listen to simple orders but she's gone now and even though there is just Melisende, the midwife and some servants, it feels like he has at least a hundred people around him constantly talking and talking and talking.

He just wants to get this thing over with. He wants to hold his child and stop feeling this incredible pain that is much greater than the time when he lost his first child. And it would be just fucking amazing if people stopped encouraging him like he was a racehorse and not a human being trying to bring a child into the world.

It feels like an eternity since morning when he hears the midwife say that she can see the child already. Then it's just more and more pain but it's like being completely exhausted but you keep running because you can see your final destination. The strange sensation of it is crashing through the pain.

Another eternity later, Harry hears crying. And that's when he can finally let out the breath he didn't know he was holding since the moment he found out about the child growing under his heart. 


	36. Desistance

_March 1488 - Windsor, England_

Zayn moves quickly around the castle, trying to get to the wing where Harry's chambers are. He asks a Lady in passing if she knows anything about their baby but she said that not a single word has left Harry's chambers yet. Zayn's unsure whether that's a good sign or a bad one.

As he gets closer to Harry's chambers, there are more and more guards, those additional ones he had stationed there before he left for the battle. No one from Edric's followers has breached the castle's walls and that's incredible news. The guards in front of the door to Harry's bedroom, let him in without a word. Zayn then realizes that he's still wearing the bloody armour, although he has thrown off his gloves and washed the blood off his hands before coming inside.

Zayn hesitates for a moment with his hand on the door handle. He doesn't know why but there's a smidge of anxiety. So many things can go wrong in a situation like this and he wouldn't survive losing Harry or their child. But how can he know if he doesn't open the door?

He opens the door slowly, entering as quietly as he can. There is none of the ruckus around the room like there was before he left for the battle. Upon entering fully, he sees that there's only Harry in the room, with a baby in his arms that's squirming around. A huge weight falls off of Zayn's chest, seeing that both of them are alive and well.

Harry looks up at Zayn with a tired smile. "Hello. I am very happy to see you alive, love. How was the battle?"

"Hi," Zayn breathes out, a smile appearing on his face as he walks closer to the bed. "Edric is dead. Helen is taking the survivors in for interrogation. But I believe you have better news than I do."

"I guess so," Harry chuckles as Zayn sits on the side of the bed. "I do have someone for you to meet."

Harry shifts the baby in his arms, propping it up a little higher and Zayn finally sees their child's face. The baby is staring at him with wide blue eyes, the default colour for newborns. He reaches to touch the baby's hand and it grasps his finger in its tiny hand. Zayn's heart misses a beat at that, overwhelmed with the love he already feels for his child and his husband too. The baby is his blood and they came to be out of love, just as must of duty to the throne. But this little human will one day be powerful and strong and brilliant and Zayn can't wait to witness it.

"Hello, sweetheart," Zayn says quietly. "I am so glad to finally see you. You're so beautiful."

"Her name is Philippa," Harry says then. "She's been out in the world for less than an hour."

"She's wonderful," Zayn says as he watches his daughter calmly take in everything around her, his finger still in her grasp. "I am so happy you are both alright. I was terribly worried."

"I'm fine. We both are, aren't we, love?" Harry asks the baby and bends down to leave a fleeting kiss on the top of her head. "After you left she decided to stop taking her time and came out in no time, even though it felt like an eternity. The midwife said she is perfectly healthy and one of the most beautiful babies she's ever seen, which sounds about right. And you, mister, you need to take off that nasty armour before you can hold her."

"Of course," Zayn chuckles and leans over to kiss Harry shortly. "I love you so much and I'm infinitely grateful for our child. It was a sacrifice but you did great. I'm proud of you, love."

"I love you too," Harry replies. "While I do whinge a lot about everything, I forgot about all the hardships of the last months when I held Philippa for the first time. She's worth it. And I will make sure she will be the Queen after we die. No matter what it takes. Go on now. I'll wait for you and then I'm going to sleep for a day and whoever wakes me will lose their head. Unless it's Philippa."

"Alright," Zayn laughs and leaves one more kiss on Harry's cheek. "I will be back shortly."

"I love you so much, _mon petite cerise,"_  Zayn tells to Philippa before kissing her forehead and getting off the bed.

"Zayn?" Harry asks just before Zayn opens the door to the hallway. "Were you the one to kill Edric?"

"Of course," Zayn replies. "I nearly decapitated him with my sword and before he died, I told him that I hope he burns in hell with his Father."

Harry grins at him from the bed, the tired look on his face disappearing for a flash. "I love you so fucking much. That knowledge brings me great joy. It's what he deserved. I must say, with Philippa's much-awaited arrival and now this, today is a great day."

"It is, my love," Zayn says with a smile before leaving the room, already looking forward to coming back again.

xxx

When Zayn leaves and Harry's left alone with Philippa again, Harry just starts talking to her again in a low, soft voice. He can't wrap his head around her being here at last. The was so much worry and fear about her arrival. In the darkest moments, Harry couldn't trust the notion that his child was to be born on term and healthy. After the loss of his son, it was kind of impossible even if Philippa never let him forget she was with him twenty-four hours a day by kicking him constantly and moving in a very concerning way, which Harry later found out was completely normal for a baby about to be born.

Then after hours of pain, she was outside of the cocoon of safety that sheltered her for nine months and Harry was taken back to that moment more than two years ago when his first child came out just like her, but he didn't cry, he didn't breathe, he didn't move. Today, he heard loud cries almost immediately and the cheerful voice of the midwife saying "It's a girl.". Then Philippa was in his arms and all the pain suddenly seemed like a distant memory.

Harry and Zayn never really talked about the name of their baby because when they tried, nothing really fit. They didn't know if it was a boy or a girl so it seemed pointless either way. But when Philippa first opened her eyes and looked at Harry like he was her entire world, something in him just knew that she should be Philippa. The second and third name needed for royal babies aren't that important to him, but Philippa Helen Grace does have a ring to it.

Philippa doesn't fall asleep in Harry's arm, even though he expects her to. She just stares at him and a little at her surroundings, more alert than most newborns Harry's seen in his life. Philippa seems so fascinated by the world that it seems like she's regretting not coming out sooner, like her Father desperately wanted her to.

The door to the bedroom that leads from the sitting room opens and Juliana appear there, a hesitant smile on her face.

"May I come in?" she asks. Harry nods, trying to give her an encouraging smile. He didn't want anyone else to come see Philippa before Zayn got back from the battle. But now, it's fair for Juliana to meet her grandchild.

"Mother, this is Philippa," Harry says when Juliana is sitting at the edge of the bed. He tries to give her Philippa to hold but she starts crying and quiets down only when Harry's properly holding her again. "I guess she didn't communicate that well, but she surely is glad to meet her grandmother."

"Hello, little one," Juliana tells her and touches her little hand. Philippa watches her in wonder, as she does with all the new people and things. Juliana coos at her, talking to her in a baby voice. For the first time since the whole Warwick incident happened, Harry sees her smile is truly genuine.

"Harry, she is so beautiful," Juliana gushes. "Babies often come out looking red or wrinkled but look at this beauty. She is so alert too. And I know it's too early to tell, but she looks so much like you but I think she has Zayn's eyes."

"Do you?" Harry asks. "I never understood how people can tell who a baby took after just moments after being born. I can't see anything."

"Oh, love," Juliana chuckles and puts her hand on Harry's cheek. "You will learn that with age and experience. As Philippa grows, you will start to see it and with your next baby, you will see right away, trust me."

"God, Mother," Harry scoffs. "Do not talk about _another_  child when Philippa was born not even two hours ago. I need time to recover, lots of time, actually. The question of another child is an _if_ one, not a _when_  one. At least now."

"Alright, alright," Juliana puts her hands up. "I understand. How are you feeling now? Are you tired?"

"Extremely," Harry replies. "I will sleep in a moment, don't worry. I will be fine. Could you leave us now?"

"Of course," Juliana smiles a little. She says goodbye to Philippa and squeezes Harry's free hand that isn't holding Philippa encouragingly before she leaves. As she's closing the door, Possie sauters in, stopping by the bed and looking up at Harry before meowing.

"Oh, hello, Pos," Harry greets the cat. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Possie meows again before jumping up on the bed and cautiously walking closer to Philippa. Harry's not really worried Possie could hurt her. She's not a violent cat. She doesn't usually fight with the other cats running around the castle's courtyard and she's never scratched anyone, as far as Harry knows. The last few days before Philippa was born, Possie at was Harry's side almost all the time and she used to butt her head against his belly sometimes. Some people say cats can feel your emotions or your hurt and that their purring acting helps you heal because they use it to heal themselves, so her presence now shouldn't be a bad thing.

Philippa watches the cat, her head propped up on Harry's arm and she starts to make these little baby noises that are the most adorable thing Harry's ever heard. Possie puts her front paws on Harry's chest and smells Philippa's hands before backing down and curling into a ball on the side of the bed, right by Harry's hips.

"Good girl," Harry says quietly and scratches Possie's ear, who starts purring loudly and doesn't stop even after Harry removes his hand from her soft fur.

"Possie will be your kitty, baby girl," Harry tells Philippa in a soft voice before kissing her head. "She already loves you. But you know what, sweetheart? No one could ever love you more than I do. And your Papa too. We love you so, so much and we would never let anyone hurt you. You are going to be so loved, angel. We wanted you so much and we waited a long time for you before you came to us. Always remember that I love you, Philippa."

Philippa blinks at him and if Harry was just a bit more exhausted, he would think she understood what he just said. But he believes she feels all the love around her. From the first time, he held her against his chest, Harry will make sure she is so happy and loved she could never possibly doubt it.

xxx

Zayn has to take a detour before going back to Harry and Philippa because Helen runs into him in a hallway and asks him to come to the dungeons to see the prisoners. It turns out that Edric's right-hand man is a young seventeen-year-old Lord from the North, who starts crying the second Zayn and Helen enter his cell and starts begging for mercy. He spills everything in a matter of minutes, all while wailing and begging to give him a pardon because his parents would be terribly disappointed in him.

It turns out that his parents live at court and his Father, Lord Halifax, who has always been known as an honest man and loyal to the crown. Zayn wonders what would Lord Halifax do if he knew his son is in the dungeons at the brink of his death. They can't grant him a pardon. What he did was treason of the highest order and no King or Queen would let him walk a free man.

The man cries that Edric fooled them and said that he had a bigger army that would crush any resistance from the crown but when they all gathered, Edric acted like he was about to march on Rome with 200 000 men when in reality, he didn't have even more than five hundred. It doesn't help him because Zayn leaves, leaving him wailing alone in his cell and he tells Helen to tell Lord Halifax what happened.

Back in Harry's chambers, Harry greets him with a "Finally, I thought you were getting ready for a ball or something."

"No, Helen wanted me to see this one prisoner," Zayn sighs as he closes the door. "Lord Halifax's son. He was Edric's closest companion. The poor man just started crying and begging for a pardon while he revealed everything he knew even without torture."

"He shouldn't have conspired against the crown," Harry says dismissingly. "He made his bed and now he should sleep in it. How on Earth can he be so terrible when Lord Halifax and his wife are such good people?"

"He lived at their estate alone for some time since they're at court and he must have been manipulated by Edric," Zayn says and comes to the bed, where Harry puts Philippa in his arms right away. "Hello, Philippa. How are you, love? I missed you."

Zayn then hears a disgruntled meow and he notices Possie sitting on the bed, right at the spot where he wanted to sit. He rolls his eyes and sits in an armchair by the bed instead.

Philippa stares at him with those beautiful, wide eyes for a moment before they start getting droopy, matching Harry's who's watching them from the bed with a tired smile.

"Put her in her cradle when she falls asleep," Harry says. "I hope she doesn't cry because she really likes being held. She cried when I tried to give her to my Mother."

"Well, I take it as a good sign that she's not crying now," Zayn chuckles. Philippa squirms in his arms and yaws, closing her eyes right after she does.

Harry laughs cheerfully. "Oh, imagine if she did. That would be cruel. But she knows you're her Papa. She loves you. God, she is so wonderful. Just the most wonderful baby there is. I love her so much. She's perfect. She's honestly perfect."

"She is," Zayn agrees. "I can't believe she's ours. It's crazy that we have a child now."

"We are not really that young," Harry muses. "Some would say that having your firstborn at twenty-one is late. But she came at just the right time. We have officially created our family, you and me. She will bear the Plantagenet name again and I know she will bring the lost glory to that name."

"Let us not put political pressure on her before she can even talk," Zayn says, half-joking, half-serious.

"No, of course not," Harry shakes his head. "I would never try to control her like that. I just know she will be a wonderful person and even now, I can see great things ahead of her. I can feel it."

"You should rest, love," Zayn says then and he stands up, putting the now sleeping Philippa in her cradle that's between the outside wall and the end table next to the bed. She doesn't wake up as her position changes which makes Zayn pretty pleased because he didn't make wake his daughter up and accidentally made her cry.

"I know," Harry says. "I am so exhausted. I feel so weird and disgusting and a bath would probably be just so wonderful but then I'd fall asleep inside and drown and no one wants that. Can you stay here while I sleep?"

"Of course," Zayn says and comes to the bed to leave a kiss on Harry's forehead. "If Philippa wakes up, I'll take care of her so you can rest."

"What did I do to deserve you?" Harry asks, a small exhausted smile on his lips.

"Everything, my love," Zayn replies. "I am the lucky one."

Without any more words, Zayn goes back to the armchair and he grabs a book from the pile on the end table, kicks his feet up on the edge of the bed and starts reading. Harry's passed out in moments, his chest rising and falling calmly, just like Philippa's.

After some time, Zayn abandons the book because Possie jumps into his lap and demands cuddles which gives him the time to think. As he watches Harry sleep peacefully, his mind goes back to more than three back, when he and Harry had just met. Zayn saw a cocky young man then, confident, fearless and charming. He saw his enemy that he was taught to hate all his life. And Harry came to Zayn's table and that was all it took. That one night in the tavern in York essentially erased decades of war and hatred. They didn't hate each other. In hindsight, Zayn thinks they fell in love right then and there in a shitty bed of a dodgy tavern as stars were moving across the sky above them and war was trying to consume them.

They were kids then. Stupid kids listening to their Mothers and advisors but things have changed. They make their own decisions and they've been successfully ruling over a country for three years. With Philippa, their legacy will continue even after their death. Even if they were killed tomorrow, Philippa would carry on their family name and hopefully continued to try and bring peace to England and take England further into a new era, into a better time for their people.

The night before their wedding, when he and Harry stayed in Leicester, Zayn was sure he didn't know how to love Harry properly, how to show him the love that he carried in his heart for him. But now he knows that he could never love anything or anyone more than Harry and Philippa. Their love and marriage have only been strengthed by all the hardships they didn't succumb to. With the birth of Philippa, the love has only gotten stronger because she is another thing connecting them, bringing them even closer. The romantic love they have for each other is only more powerful thanks to the love they have for Philippa. And that is the most beautiful thing anyone can experience.


	37. Part I - Epilogue

_1489 - Windsor, England_

Peace brings prosperity to a country. To the lives of its people. From peasants to Kings, living in a peaceful country is better for everyone. The country grows intellectually, economically, historically. Periods of peace might not be the best-known eras of history but they are the times people sought after during the times of war and misery.

A year since the last time England had to unsheath their swords and face the enemy also marks Philippa's first birthday. One year of peace is not something to be celebrated in a Kingdom but the court is surely going to celebrate the first birthday of the Princess of England. She is the heir to the throne as of now and also the hope for the longevity of peace in the Kingdom.

It's already warm enough in March to have the celebrations outside in the gardens where it won't get stuffy and more people can join than in the ballroom. Philippa already knows how to walk and does she love running around.

Harry watches her play with a few other children in attendance, her and their nannies looking over them and picking them up when they all inevitably fall while running with their chubby toddler legs. She's such a happy child, always smiling and laughing, making everyone's day better with just her presence. Unlike some other children at court who constantly hide behind their parents' legs, Philippa is fearless and isn't afraid to talk to everyone in her gibberish baby-talk. She's healthy, smart and growing into a wonderful little human being.

Philippa suddenly grabs her diadem and throws it off her head on the ground and starts running over the grass to Harry, who's relieved because now he can stop pretending like he was actively participating in the conversation about Lord Winchester's castle renovations. Harry picks her up the moment she's close enough of to and Philippa excitedly calls out "dada" a few times because 'father' is too difficult of a word for a one-year-old to pronounce.

"Hello, sweetheart," Harry coos and kisses his daughter. "Did you miss me, love? You came to find me?"

Philippa once again talks some baby gibberish and squeals. She then smacks Harry on the face but it's all with love, of course.

Harry excuses himself from the group of people and embarks on a journey through a sea of guests to find Zayn. The last time he saw him he was talking to someone who's visiting here from Sweden. One of the absolute worst thing about being a King is having to talk to all kinds of people and not being able to just leave at any time. But now Harry's got Philippa, who suddenly seems so tired once she isn't running around, and he's going to find Zayn and leave. The sun is going to start setting soon and with that, the evening chill will drive people inside of the castle and either way, it's Philippa's bedtime soon. Before that, Harry wants to enjoy some time alone with his daughter and his husband.

He eventually finds Zayn hidden behind a tree, sitting at a small table with Raphael and Frederick.

"Well, hello there," Harry says once he gets closer to them. "Did you gentlemen steal my husband?"

Zayn notices them then and smiles, standing up and coming to Harry to kiss him shortly.

"Our little princess is asleep on your shoulder," Zayn says. "Hello, love."

"We did not steal him," Raphael quips. "We were talking about politics."

Harry ignores Raphael to twist his head and look at Philippa, who truly is sleeping with her head pillowed on Harry's shoulder. She looks so peaceful with her long eyelashes casting a shadow on her cheeks, just like Zayn's do when his eyes are closed.

"Oh, I did not even notice," Harry says. "She must have been tired after running for so long. And you two, did I not tell you to stop talking about politics at my daughter's birthday celebration? Does no one in this entire Kingdom listen to me?"

"No, of course, we do," Frederick defends. "Raphael's drunk off his arse. We are both leaving now and we do not know Zayn until tomorrow. Have a good night."

Fredericks gets off his chair and drags Raphael out of his own, dragging him by the elbow towards the general area of the rest of the party.

"How did you like the party?" Zayn asks Harry as they start walking towards the castle. 

"It was fine," Harry says. "Philippa enjoyed herself and that's all I asked for so I guess it was a success. I could have gone without it. She will not remember it either way. I wished we could just go somewhere as a family and enjoy the day in privacy."

Zayn hums. "I think we can do that even tomorrow but a celebration for the court and our supporters is in order. It was a big leap of faith for quite a few of them to trust that we will truly stop the war and our children were the key to the peace. Celebrating Philippa is for them but also for us. She's a very important and special little girl. Besides, she had fun. It doesn't matter what we want. Once she starts talking we will be marching to the beat of her drum like common soldiers."

"You're right," Harry leads out a quiet chuckle, trying not to wake Philippa up as he carries her. "We are going to be doing everything she wants. But we cannot let her grow into a spoiled brat. There needs to be balance."

"Of course," Zayn agrees. "She might be the Queen one day. She can't be overbearing and pompous."

"I think your Mother will be a good influence for her," Harry says out of nowhere. "We are men after all. She needs someone else she can look up to beside us. And who is a better example of a strong woman who has ruled and never let anyone walk all over her?"

"Well, I hope she keeps the lesson about spying for when Philippa is at least fifteen," Zayn laughs.

They scarcely get back to their chambers when Philippa wakes up, ready to run around and wreak mild havoc again. At first, they try to play with her on the floor on a plush carpet with some toys but then Possie captures Philippa's attention and off she goes chasing the cat. 

"You know," Harry says as he and Zayn sit on the floor, watching Philippa as she plays with Possie. "I want Philippa to be the one to inherit our throne."

Zayn looks at Harry with mild confusion. "She is our heir already. What do you mean?"

"That when we have more children," Harry takes a deep breath before continuing. "I want Philippa to be the first in the line of succession no matter what. Our next baby could be a girl again. And what if we never have more children? Or we have another daughter? Or if our youngest is a boy? It is not fair to her if she had to give up her throne just because she is not a boy."

Zayn nods. "What do you want to do?"

"Issue a decree," Harry says without hesitation. "Simply change the law and say that the person inheriting the throne is the firstborn, no matter the gender. We need to meet with the Privy Council soon and propose it so the decree comes out before our second child is born."

"Why the rush?" Zayn asks before stopping, a flash of realisation appearing on his face before he lets out a disbelieving laugh. "When did you find out?"

"A few days ago," Harry says shyly. "I wanted to tell you today, in a nicer way but I guess this was alright."

"Love," Zayn says with a smile and walks on his knees across the carpet to Harry and kisses him. "I don't care about how you told me. I'm happy our family is growing. Philippa is going to be a great big sister."

"I know, she is going to be wonderful," Harry sighs and lets himself be consumed in the embrace. "I was scared about trying so soon but we never know what can happen and while we have this peace, I want to have children so they can grow up without their Fathers leaving for battles and without living in fear."

Zayn pulls away from Harry and sits next to him, wrapping an arm around Harry's waist. "We will make sure they will grow up in peace, not in a war like you and I did. And we will also make sure Philippa is the ruler after we die."

Harry nods, looking at Zayn before kissing him again. Their kiss is broken by Philippa's excited laughter which makes them pull apart and look at her. She and Possie are on the ground and Philippa's overjoyed that Possie chose to lick her cheek. Harry calls for Possie, who comes to him right away and leaves her human best friend still giggling on the ground.

"Philippa, ma petite cerise, viens voir papa," Zayn calls to Philippa, who wobbles her way onto her feet and runs straight into Zayn's waiting arms. He starts kissing her all over her face until she's screaming with delight and smacking at him.

"Je t'aime tellement, mon ange," Zayn whispers to her before finally letting her just sit in his lap.

"Philippa," Harry grabs her little hand. "Do you want to be a big sister?"

Philippa watches him for a moment with her whisky-coloured eyes before confidently screaming "No!"

Harry and Zayn both start laughing at that because of course, she would say no when it's her favourite word right now, not to mention one of the few she can actually say. Philippa is confused by their laughter at first but joins them in a moment, giggling and showing off her first four baby teeth.

xxx

The Privy Council meets three weeks later for this specific issue. In the previous meetings, there were other matters to be discussed and with this one, they can focus solely on this problem. After Harry explains the decree in its entirety and presents a draft version for everyone to read, he can only hope he will have unanimous support. After all, he and Zayn trust every single person on the Privy Council. There would be no reason for them to be against it.

"As we all know," Harry continues speaking. "A woman can inherit to throne according to current law but not when there is a viable male heir. It is not right. A firstborn is a firstborn, no matter what. If the tragedy with our unborn child had not happened, my firstborn would have been a boy and I still would want this decree to be issued. It is only right and fair."

"Why now? The nobles can see it as a sign of weakness," Earl of Devon asks. "Some could assume that Your Grace cannot bring another heir into the world and you are trying to assure that Princess Philippa gets the throne no matter what."

"I am trying to do exactly that, sir," Harry replies while giving him a pointed look. "If something were to happen to my husband and me, we both want to make sure that Philippa is the sole heir." 

"Some time ago," Zayn says, "we fixed the documents about the line of succession that were tampered with during the war. This is just the next step to ensure the peace we fought so hard for. Philippa is the first of the Plantagenet dynasty, a dynasty that shall bring and keep peace in England. As each and every monarch, we have enemies too. There are surely going to be wars in our lifetime. Philippa is the future of England and we need to make sure her throne stays hers no matter what."

"Are you not planning more children?" the Duke of Norfolk asks. "I do not mean to offend you, Your Grace. With all due respect, I am just asking to try and understand the situation and how to present it to the nobility."

Harry sighs. "I am not offended. In fact, I wanted to announce later in this meeting that I am with child. The nobility shall not know yet, not until the decree is issued. I do not want the decree to be deemed useless and stupid with the sheer hope of the nobility that the child I am carrying right now will be a boy. And to exactly answer your question, sir, I am planning a child for the end of this year. The decree shall be issues and the news about it sent out by the end of April, although it would be ideal if this matter was finished and closed in a fortnight because I do not intend to announce the coming of out child less than a month after the decree has been issued. Please trust me, just as with our school reform, this is the best decision for England."

After a quiet chorus of "congratulations, Your Grace", everyone starts discussing the matter with each other, not even pretending to be whispering. It lasts until Melisende clears her throat and asks for a vote. The motion passes unanimously, which makes Harry breathe out in relief. He could have issued it without their support but he needs it in order to keep the nobility in check.

Harry and Zayn stay inside the room after the meeting is over, going over some more documents that need signing or completing.

"Are we having that portrait painted next week?" Zayn asks suddenly.

"Yes," Harry replies, not looking up from the papers. "I want one with just the three of us without the baby. Then once the baby is born we will have another one painted."

Once a hall in the castle started filling up with their portrait, Harry wanted to document their lives this way more. It might be tiring to sit for a portrait for hours but it's worth it, seeing your life change and shift documented in paintings on your way to dinner. Philippa will never be this little again and Harry wants to remember it.

"Alright," Zayn says. "We need to arrange our travel itinerary for summer. Do we want to cross the channel? Because we will be taking Philippa with us and I do not want her to be in distress because of the boat journey."

"Oh, no," Harry says, straightening his back. "We will not go far. I want some rest this summer. Last year was too busy but I understand that everyone wanted to see Philippa. Your family visiting from France honestly took at least three years of my life. And it was just your Aunt and Grandmother. I thought Melisende would have Mariota murdered."

"Harry, how many times do I have to say this?" Zayn scoffs. "I did not invite them. They were in England and decided to come here too. Be glad Mathieu was not with them. Besides, my Mother strengthened get reach in France so this can never happen again. As much as you were annoyed, no one wanted them to leave more than my Mother."

"Is Mathieu at the French royal court now?" Harry asks.

"Yes, unfortunately," Zayn sighs. "This could be a problem. My Mother said in passing recently that we should limit their source of money and other resources before they get too cocky. Their meaning my Aunt's and Mathieu. But before that, I will make sure Agnes leaves that Bordeaux. As much as I hate arranged marriages, I want her to be safe somewhere far from her deranged brother."

Harry sighs painfully. "I wish I was a simple milkmaid sometimes. I would not know how to read and I would not have to deal with this crap."

xxx

Their second child decides to arrive with quite the ruckus. It's only November when Harry's sitting in his study one late morning, going through his correspondence when sudden familiar pain starts to attack his lower torso. It's a good month before the baby is due so he tries to convince himself it's nothing, just the baby moving and kicking something quite roughly. He sits in this hair with one hand on his belly and another writing for some time before it's hard to ignore and he calls for his guard to get the midwife and the physician too, just in case.

As it turns out, when more and more hours pass, the baby is coming out in spite of the entire month it should have waited. Philippa came at least a week late and now their second child just cannot be kept out of the world anymore.

When evening turns into night, for the first time in Harry's life, he appreciates how quick Philippa was with her arrival. The court starts to go silent with all its residents going to bed and the baby still hasn't made its way out. The midwife fears it's turned the wrong way but it is too late for the baby to turn around at this point but she tries with different positions and touch.

It's deep night as thunder break out, lightning shining through the windows and rain violently slashing at the glass of them. Harry cries in his bed, praying that his child is alright even despite all this pain. The midwife keeps assuring him that this is normal, that it happens and that he shouldn't be scared because Philippa was a very easy baby to deliver. But it's been more than twelve hours and Harry's anxious to hold his child, to know that the baby is fine.

Thunder lasts the entire night and it sees to the very, very slow progression of the baby's arrival. The midwife is eerily calm as Harry is hysterical. She keeps assuring him that nothing is wrong, that things are moving on slower because the baby is coming earlier than supposed to and his body isn't ready. The rush of it is causing the pain that apparently isn't hurting the child.

The baby comes out in the morning, hours after the first proper attempts to push him out were made but it's a boy and he's healthy, even if he came out the wrong way and is a little smaller than he should be.

Harry cries from happiness. The last time a son left his body, he cried because of grief but now he is infinitely happy. His husband is there with him, not on a battlefield like last time and this son is healthy and beautiful. A small thought that makes Harry even happier is that Philippa's throne is safe. He loves both of his children equally but Philippa was the firstborn and she is the one to cement the peace in England with her carrying the Plantagenet name.

The baby is christened later as Cassian Mark Samuel Plantagenet. Even if some people mumble under their noses that he should be the heir, they will eat their words once Philippa is Queen.

xxx

The smell of sea breeze and the sound of the sea will always remind Harry of the time he spent in Binham Abbey when he was a child. Now there are also the memories of his wedding and the time just a few weeks back when he took his children to Binham for the first time.

This summer Harry and Zayn just needed time away from court. They have been constantly working ever since coming back from their honeymoon in mainland Europe and now, they deserve it. Cassian's early arrival caused great distress because they were worried he would not be fine, that he would not grow as he should. But he is more than half a year old now and he's perfect.

Bamburgh Castle in the very north of England seemed like the ideal spot for their summer holiday with their children. They stopped in Binham to visit the monks for a few days and moved on up north on their journey. It's calm, it's beautiful. There is a long, sprawling beach right next to the castle where they spend the majority of their days.

Philippa loves the water and also the sand. She's learning new words every single day by now and she's an expert walker and runner.

Harry's holding Cassian against his naked chest as he walks to Zayn and Philippa, who are near the waterline. The sea is a constant source of entertainment for Philippa for which they're both eternally grateful because entertaining a two-year-old child is harder than it seems.

Joining them in the sand and having simple, unhinged fun is perfection. Miles and miles away from the intrigue of court, from the politics, Harry almost feels like a normal person just spending time with his husband and two children. But he knows this bliss will end the second they get on the carriage that will take them to Windsor.

But for now, Harry doesn't think about what wars are waiting for them, what enemies are just waiting to stab them in the back. At this moment, the most important thing in the world for him is Philippa's sand castle, Cassian's hand grabbing at his hair and Zayn's easy smile untarnished by the stress of being a King. He's with the three people he loves the most in the world and no one can take this moment away from him. This place is their bubble of peace and love. The time here might be borrowed but it's priceless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WILL BE BACK WITH PART TWO AT ONE POINT OR ANOTHER!!!!!!!!!  
> find me @insomniacicarus on Tumblr :)  
> THANK YOU ALL SM FOR READING I LOVE YALL


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